


Lead Me Onward

by Kosho



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Assassins & Hitmen, Dalish Elves, Drunken Kissing, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Haven (Dragon Age), I Don't Even Know, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Raised By Humans, Rough Sex, Surprise Kissing, Tags May Change, The Blight (Dragon Age), Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-07 11:55:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10359849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kosho/pseuds/Kosho
Summary: Aenor is the last survivor of Clan Lavellan, the rest destroyed. Taking pity on the girl, she's taken in by Connall Kennedy, a member of the Free Marches Brotherhood. The Council is willing to let her stay on the condition she gets proper training, though Thedas is in for a nasty storm.Will include characters from across the Dragon Age series, as well as across Assassin's Creed. This is mainly an Inquisition story, but will have mentions of the events from the first two.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just really, really am obsessed with Dragon Age and AC, I had a mighty need to do this. Please forgive me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://tinyurl.com/mygxz3j For those wondering what Aenor looks like, here you are.

_ 9:25 Dragon -  _

 

_ I didn’t particularly have a reason to pity the child. These things happen, elves keep to themselves for a reason. Still, I felt wrong just leaving her like that. If I couldn’t find a use for her, I might well have dropped her off somewhere safer than the seas. Don’t speak a lick of the language myself, but I’m told Aenor is a good, strong name. She’s but a wee thing, and she can be taught -- will be taught, I have so few choices in this world, to save her life is what I choose. _

 

 

  * __Letter sent to the Free Marches Order__



 

 

When they made port in the Free Marches, Connall grabbed a room for the night. Still a good day’s travel to get where they were heading, and between the journey and the shock of the death of her clan, she was exhausted. Gathering her up in his arms, he carried her into the room. Dropping the small child to the bed gently, he covered her up, the sound of her soft breathing audible from across the room. Connall checked the blade on his sword, satisfied that it didn’t need to be sharpened just yet. The response had been a mixed one, a problem to be sorted out on arrival, per the letter. He wasn’t quite sure what to say about her, and she wasn’t talking, not yet. He had no idea if she would even show any proficiency for the profession, a sad reality of what her life was about to become. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, she would be safer with him, learning the trade than to end up dead or forced into a life she had no business being involved with, not this young. It was an impulse to take her from the chaos, he didn’t get there in time to spare her from seeing it, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving her amongst the burning wreckage of the camp, still burning bodies of the people she called ‘family’ scattered around her. Her survival was probably an oversight, hidden away until the assailants had left, or perhaps they left her on purpose, assuming she would die on her own with no one to care for her. 

 

He drew his hood back, propping his feet up on the table. It wasn’t comfortable, but he didn’t dare share the bed and risk frightening her. Glancing back to check on her, Connall was unsurprised that her sleep was fitful, but at least it was  _ sleep. _ She hadn’t slept a wink on the ship, barely eating the food he had offered, though eventually her hunger had gotten bad enough to risk trusting him. As much as she needed to get it down, he didn’t give her much, knowing if she were to eat too much, too quickly, it would only do more harm than good. The longer he looked at her, the more he realized she was better off, reaffirmed in his decision. Aenor had spent a decent amount of time in the sun by the warm tone of her skin, eyes an unusual shade of brownish gold, short, haphazard red locks doing nothing to hide the ears at all. Freckles crossed from cheek to cheek, her face absent of the marks the rest of the bodies bore. If he was to be responsible for her care, it was equal parts a benefit and a problem. 

 

She’d blend well without those Dalish markings, but when he made port with her...an imperative to keep her close, lest a guard toss her in an alienage to be forgotten and mistreated. Children weren’t an especially uncommon sight in the Brotherhood, but whether they’d allow her to stay was a fight for tomorrow.

* * *

 

 

Connall sat her outside the door, entering the room. Several others filed in, seated around a small table, eyes shifting from one to the next as if waiting for someone to start.

 

“What possessed you to do something this foolish?” a man questioned. 

 

“It isn’t foolish. The Creed dictates we take no innocent life, leaving her behind would be just the same as if I had killed her myself. Aenor might--” he said. 

 

A woman lofted a brow, hidden under the hood she wore. “Aenor? You named her, did you?” 

 

He glared in her direction, frowning. “Reid, give the girl a chance, she might be an asset to us. She’s lost everything already, casting her out now would not only be giving her to death but the coldest thing that could be done to her at this point.” 

A man with greying hair leaned forward, clearing his throat. The group fell silent, focused entirely on him, for it was ultimately his decision to make.

 

“Very well. You clearly feel strongly about this, therefore she’s your problem. You will care for her, you will train her. I will determine when and  _ if _ she is fit to be among us when you say she’s ready.” he dictated. 

 

“What of my own work?” he asked cautiously, already forming the answer on his own.

 

“I am confident you will manage both. Figure it out, this  _ is  _ what you wanted, right?” he asked behind a smirk. 

 

The door creaked open, wide golden eyes fixed apprehensively on him, fingers fisting tightly in the tunic she wore. The woman called Reid chuckled behind her hand at the sight, leaning back in her seat, fingers steepled. 

 

“Well, Connall. Better see what the whelp wants.” she sneered. 

 

Her eyes scanned the others in the room, sucking in her bottom lip slowly, brows drawn low like it made her uneasy. Connall quickly left his seat, kneeling in front of her, hand resting on her head lightly, a kindly smile on his face. 

 

“What’s the matter, sweet thing?” he asked quietly. 

 

“An assassin playing at father, bit off a bit much…” another figure commented. 

 

She glanced to him for a moment, confusion written on her face. Turning her focus back to Connall, she reached to hold a lock of his medium length dirty blonde hair, staring at him like she was trying to look into his soul, mouth opening like she was about to speak, though she didn’t at first.

 

“Ane ma babae mala?” she questioned faintly. 

 

He wasn’t quite sure what she was saying, trying to guess at it. Surprisingly, Reid left her seat, squatting down in front of her, resting her elbow on her knee, chin in her palm. 

 

“Vin, da’lan.” she told her. “Dara i’ ish.” 

 

Aenor’s eyes went wide with surprise, not letting go of Connall’s hair while she took the time to absorb whatever it was Reid had told her. Nodding finally, her hand fell, grasping his sleeve loosely, inching just a little closer. 

 

“She shouldn’t give you any trouble now.” Reid told him. Glancing back to the girl, she made only one inquiry. “Thu ha ane ma?” 

 

Aenor stared at her free hand, raising it slightly. “Va.” 

 

Reid gave a slight nod, standing slowly. Returning to her seat, she refused to respond to the question she knew was silently aimed at her. Her business was her own, as was how she happened to know how to address her. Most had a life before this one, she was no exception. Connall could guess at what the girl had told him based only on the way she held up her hand with determination. Five years old, too young to be without a family, to have her life shaken up this way. Ruffling her hair, he scooped her up once more, lifting her to his shoulders when he stood up. 

 

“Let’s find you something to eat, missy.” he told her, walking out with her. 

 

He was fairly sure now was not a good time to explain to her what was going on. She surely wouldn’t understand just yet, but that didn’t mean there was nothing he could do to begin her training. He wasn’t the most creative of people, but perhaps he could hold her interest if he could make a game out of it somehow...


	2. Chapter 2

_ 9:30 Dragon _

 

_ Connall,  _

 

_ I thought to warn you while there is yet time. I cannot urge you strongly enough, stay where you are. Do not venture to Ferelden. I fear it may not last for much longer, a Blight has broken out. The Wardens are said to be gone, and the King has been killed. Things are in turmoil here, and it is not safe to come here just yet. In fact, many of our brothers and sisters are yet moving northward. I daresay by the time this letter reaches you, your halls may already be full to bursting with our numbers. I shall endeavor to keep you updated as I am able. - K _

 

_ Excerpt from a letter addressed to Connall Kennedy. _

 

Gripping the letter, he sighed. Indeed the news was right, the halls were swarming with those fleeing the Blight. Stuffing it back into his pocket, he moved to stand. For now, Ferelden was well off limits. He wasn’t given to concern, despite realizing a Blight this scale moving this quickly could easily swallow the world. Whatever was going to happen, would happen, but life could not stop on account of darkspawn. In just five years, his little Aenor had made leaps in progress already, and he was itching to let her out to see what she could do. Not much longer and she’d be ready for her blades, time went by too quickly at times. 

 

“Father, you look very grim today. Shall we race to the top of the tower? That seems to cheer you up.” Aenor asked quietly. 

 

Her lilting Dalish accent had long since vanished, replaced by the thicker Marcher accent. It suited her well, and for a girl of ten she was already more capable than he could say he was at her age. No point in worrying her needlessly about a problem of this scale. Connall forced a smile, eyeing the nearly sheer climb up the tall tower. Her confidence was welcome, considering how many times she had fallen before she managed to reach the top. Still, he couldn’t quite forget to instruct as well as nurture.

 

“What have I told you about calling me that during training?” he asked sternly. 

 

Her head fell to her chest, biting her lip. “My apologies. Teacher.  _ Teacher _ , would you care to race the tower?” 

 

“Much better. Let’s make this interesting then. If you can beat me to the top, you can take the day off from training. If I win, you will spend an extra hour at it.” he offered. 

 

Without missing a beat, she thrust her hand towards him, and he shook it. “Very well.” 

 

She approached the wall, fingers grasping at barely there edges just a bit past her reach. He mimicked her pose, eyes fixed on hers. “Ready? 1…”

 

“Two…” she added. 

 

“Three!” he shouted, taking off at the same moment she had. 

 

He couldn’t pay attention to her if he wanted to win, searching out holds as he ascended the tower quickly. A host of cheers erupted from below, following them all the way up. Connall pulled himself over the edge, turning around in time to see her fingers curling at the roof. Aenor pulled herself upward, her face mere inches from his, now bent to gloat a little. Her face fell into what could only be described as a pout, fully aware of the extra hour tacked onto her now twelve hour days. Not all of it was hard, a good portion usually involved a lot of hiding and waiting. 

 

“You’ve lost, sweet thing.” he chuckled. “You’ve done enough spying for a time. What should I set you on today.” 

 

Connall tapped his chin in thought, the ghost of a beard shadowing his chin, left over from a few days without shaving. “I’ve got it. We have a number of men and women from all over at our disposal. Go to the kitchen, get a good meal. By the time you return, I’ll have found someone to teach your studies today. In a few hours, I will find someone new for you to spar with.” 

 

“As you say, teacher. I will make my way back down and return when I’ve eaten.” she said. 

 

Taking a deep breath, she leapt to a wooden beam jutting from the side of the building, using ledges and window sills to quickly make her descent back to the ground. Her steps hastened on her way, eager to finish up so she could get to her training. When she got her meal, she took a seat, slumping low against the table. 

 

“Still can’t win, hm?” Reid asked. 

 

Her eyes flitted upward, nodding once. “I almost had him this time…” 

 

Reid was picking at her stew, flipping through a book that looked at least an Age old. Distracted as she seemed, she still answered, turning a page in time with her words. “That you  _ almost _ won says you’ve come far.” She sighed, putting the book down, a serious look on her face. “I didn’t think you belonged here at first. I thought you were just a whim of Kennedy’s. I figured you’d find it too difficult and give up entirely, or he’d tell you the truth someday and you’d want out. I am woman enough to admit now that I’ve misjudged you.” 

 

Aenor shifted uneasily in her seat. There had mostly been a fair bit of tension between them for years, but to hear that was the reason, it wasn’t as bad as she had imagined. “I deserved to be judged so closely. There was no promise that I would be of any use.” 

 

Reid stood from the table, rounding to the other side, rummaging in the inner pocket of her hooded robes, two lengths of ribbons from her pocket. Her hands shifted around in her hair for a moment, pinning up the backs neatly and tying them in place. She returned to her seat, shaking her head slowly, clicking her tongue once. “That’s much better. I’m not sure that Connall even realizes he’s not been raising a son. What was it he bought you for your last birthday? That short sword? When I was your age, all I wanted was a doll like the other girls got.” 

 

Aenor had wolfed down her stew, pushing the empty bowl to the side, in a rush to get back to it. Admittedly, she hadn’t really ever spoken to the woman this much though, and it was interesting to hear more of what it was like for her.

 

“I can’t remember anything of my clan anymore. Not beyond the name anyway, and bits of language. I don’t know what kind of presents I would have gotten if I wasn’t here.” she sighed. 

 

She was about to say something, but her attention was called away by something across the room. Aenor turned to see what it was, confused by the approach of an elven man marked with tattoos on his face. He took a seat, about to address Reid it looked like, until he noticed her curious stare. Turning to face her, he extended a hand, ruffling her hair gently.

 

“Well, hello there little kitten.” he greeted her warmly. “I need to discuss a matter with this woman. Run along now, like a good girl.” 

 

The man felt around in his pockets for a moment, holding a simple silver necklace with a small black bird on it, looking between her face and the necklace. He smiled, his hand cupped around her ear, whispering to her like a secret. Her eyes went wide, quickly nodding to him, though Reid hadn’t heard what he said, she quickly excused herself, rushing from the room. 

 

“I simply told her if she does as I say, I’ll find her before I set off, and she can have this little trinket.” he said, anticipating what she might ask. 

 

“Yours is a face I’ve never seen before. What is your business with me?” she asked. 

 

“Forgive me. I neglected to introduce myself. I am Zevran Arainai. You’ll not know me this far from Antiva, certainly, but we share a common profession. I came to inquire as to whether it would be possible to board one of your ships heading for Ferelden?” he asked. 

 

Reid pressed the tip of her tongue to the back of her teeth in thought. Common profession, but not one of theirs? That had to make him a Crow. To her knowledge, many of those who had just arrived had come from Ferelden, that meant there were still ships active at the port. “I’ll ask around. Surely there’s someone willing to take you.” 

 

“That would be appreciated greatly.” he said, frowning slightly. “I’m afraid I’d repay your kindness, but my comrades and I have urgent business to attend to, I’ve not the time to properly show my gratitude.” 

 

She nodded for the door with her head, shrugging. “I’m sure I’ll survive.” 

 

Zevran threw a wave over his shoulder, leaving the same way he arrived with the intent to wait just outside for word on if they had a way over the Waking Sea. He looked over the yard for the girl, wondering how far such a young thing could have gotten so quickly. She was nowhere in sight, until he chanced looking upward, wrapped feet lightly tapping on the stone as she quickly scaled the wall. Unsurprising she’d learn such a thing in a place like this. When she reached the top, she glanced down, a cart of laundry on the ground. He grimaced, about to call out to her, that was completely unsafe, and the odds of her landing safely were small. 

 

“Wai--” he managed to get out before she landed in the laundry cart with a heavy thud. 

 

Quickly crossing to the cart, she stuck her head out, huffing out a heavy breath. Her eyes began to wander back to the wall until his shadow crossed hers, looking up at him. 

 

“Such a reckless little kitten you are.” he sighed. “Why would you try such a thing?” 

 

Aenor beamed proudly at him, prepared to answer until another set of footsteps rushed towards her. Connall plucked her from the laundry cart, setting her down, shaking his head. “While I am proud of you, you need not concern yourself with such a thing just yet.” he looked conflicted, his head turning back in the direction he had just come from. “Please excuse me a moment longer, I was in the middle of talking to the one who will be teaching you tonight.” 

 

Nodding to him, he turned away. Her cheeks flushed and she hung her head almost sheepishly at being scolded. Zevran crossed his arms, connecting the dots he was a bit shocked he had missed to begin with, squatting down in front of her. “You are of my kind as well then?” 

 

She rocked back and forth on her heels, nodding again. “I am still in training, but yes. I am in training to be an assassin just like babae.” 

 

Zevran reached out, turning her back to him, withdrawing the necklace once more. Fiddling with the clasp, he draped it around her neck, fixing it in place. “All the better then.” he told her, turning her to face him, fingertip prodding the black bird adorning it. “You see this? It’s a crow, like me. Think of this as a promise then.” 

She quirked her brows curiously, lifting the bird to examine it closer. “A promise? What kind of promise?” 

 

“I must leave quickly, you see. I look forward to getting to see you again someday, so I’d like you to wear this as a sign of our promise. Someday, our paths will cross again, and at that time, I expect to hear you’re no longer an apprentice. Can you promise me that, little kitten?” he asked seriously. 

 

She bit her lip, sticking her pinky out. He hooked it in his, smiling again. “I promise!” 

 

Tilting his head curiously, he realized he hadn’t quite caught her name, nor given her his. “Twice on this day, I’ve failed to introduce myself, where are my manners? I am Zevran Arainai, but since I like you, you can call me Zev. What is yours?” 

 

Smiling a little brighter, she gestured in the direction of the man who had scolded her. “My name is Aenor Kennedy.” 

 

He again pieced it together. The man who had rushed over was the one she called father. Interesting. There was no time to pry, as the woman he spoke to about the ship returned finally, an older man in tow. While he did indeed wonder how she ended up here in the first place, the others were likely getting impatient and the sooner he could leave, the sooner they could get to business. Shortly after they departed from the grounds, Connall returned. 

 

“Come now, it’s time for you to begin your studies. I managed to find your teacher, now all I have left to do is find a decent sparring partner…” 


	3. The Kirkwall Contract (pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connall and Aenor must part ways for a time, each with a task to perform. Fulfilling her contract, she manages with the help of a familiar face to complete the second part of her assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be in two parts, this is more in the past still as the primary story will happen in the time of the Inquisition. A lot was meant to happen during the time of the Kirkwall Rebellion.

9:37 Dragon

 

_ Connall, it’s time for you to put your skills to use once again. You are needed, make your way south to Ferelden, a group of your brothers will be waiting for you upon your arrival. Do be quick about it, as your targets will not wait long before they move. _

 

Connall frowned slightly. Aenor had been given her first real contract now that she was among their ranks fully. Her mission would take her to Kirkwall, and he could not imagine her going alone. Her skills were as finely honed as could be expected of her, logic dictated their was no reason to be concerned. The idea of sending her in alone was still a maddening one. In the end, his wishes were largely ignored, she’d have to go by herself this time. Worse still, the last seven year’s worth of news out of the port city had not been promising. A Templar was her target, not much of a surprise, secondary to the target she was to take out was the safe extraction of anyone who might have information that would serve them well. 

 

He met the girl at the gates. Connall had never had much trouble severing his emotions when it matter, but for her, over the years? Watching the little girl he brought up as his own become an assassin was one thing, but to know she was very nearly a grown woman now, and the possibility that this moment could be the last they had was striking a chord in his chest. His hand fell to the back of her neck, pulling her to his chest. He planted a gentle kiss to the top of her head, squeezing her. 

 

“Kirkwall will be hard to enter. Trust in what you’ve learned, follow the Creed. Regardless of what they say, you know how to seek assistance if you need it. Carry out the contract, and when it’s done, return here and wait for me, sweet thing. When I return, we’ll have much to catch up on and I would enjoy hearing the tales of your success.” he sighed, reluctant to let her go. 

 

“I will make you proud, babae.” she swore. 

 

Aenor clutched his sleeves in a way that reminded him of how she had when she was a child. Everything unfamiliar but him, that was her sign that all was safe, as long as he was around. He knew better, she was not afraid, not of what she might find, not of the possibility of death. 

 

“You already have, Aenor. I swear, I will return. I will not abandon you.” he assured her. 

 

He let her go, pushing her gently in the opposite direction.

* * *

 

 

Kirkwall was as he had told her it would be. To say it was hard to enter was an understatement. Keeping her hood up. The chaos was audible even from outside the city, the smell of fire and curling plumes of smoke sure signs that she had arrived at a fortuitous time. Most would suggest this as the worst possible time, but with something happening inside the walls? The guards would be busy, and would be less likely to notice her slipping in. Hiding in the shadows, she crept along slowly. The path was unfamiliar to her, but it hadn’t taken long to figure out where her target was holing up at. She had overheard the Templars had overtaken the Gallows and were actively trying to resist the mages. So the Templar she was hunting was most likely there. Wouldn’t be a problem to take care of it, if the fighting was not so widespread as to impede her path completely in some places. No taking innocent lives, the only way to wade through while adhering to the Creed was to subdue only. Bodies dropped as she passed through, unconscious but alive. Using debris to swing further down the narrowing paths, she landed in the middle of a fight. Uncaring of her presence, they rushed closer, bending to avoid the burst of fire, the blade swung in the opposite direction catching her cheek, beads of warm blood rolled down her cheek, progressing to a steady trickle she could not concern herself with. 

 

She pushed herself back up on her arms, legs locking around the neck of the mage, twisting to cut off his air enough to knock him out. Upright once more, she dodged the blade properly, elbowing off the woman’s helmet, lashing out again with a direct blow to the head, a heavy clank when her body hit the ground. The wound stung, demanding her focus but Aenor pushed it to the back of her mind. The noises were getting closer, fighting worse this far in. Her quickening steps halted when a man walked into view, the description a perfect match for the man she was tasked with killing. Good, she could do this quickly and get out before matters got any worse. Armor looked hard to pierce, best bet was to go for the throat. Crouching down, Aenor silently tailed him, confident he hadn’t noticed her, opting to use a hidden blade as opposed to her sword, the sound possibly enough to alert in conditions like this. Making her move, she yanked him back by a gap in his armor, hand snaking to cover his mouth tightly while she drew the blade across his throat. Death was quick, yet in that time she nearly forgot about the feather. Bending low, she dipped the white plumage in the blood, pocketing it safely. 

 

‘Safely extract anyone who may yield information…’ she thought. 

 

That meant pressing deeper where the sounds of fighting were getting worse. Or so she had initially assumed. A man creeping in the shadows had fled from the way a small group had been heading. He had to have seen something, had to  _ know _ something. Couldn’t kill him, but protocol allowed for her to rough him up if needed. Rushing after him, he picked up the pace, but she was just a hair faster, knees slamming against his hip in an effort to impair his ability to run. For a moment, it worked, but something wasn’t right about him. Jerking him roughly by the shoulder, gold eyes met with glowing, angry ones. 

 

**_“You will not take my life. I will defend with all that I have.” the deep, menacing voice rang out._ **

 

“I am not here to kill you!” she began. 

 

His hand clutched tightly at the leather covering her shoulders, bringing her head clashing against his. He slammed her to the ground beside him, rolling over her, hips pressed to her torso to impede her movement, reaching to pin her arms above her head in just one of his. He raised his hand, energy crackling in his palm, glaring down at her. 

 

“L...let me finish. I’m not...h-here to kill you…” she stuttered, an ache pounding in her skull. “I am here to take you to safety. I - ah….” she hissed. “Merely want to talk.” 

 

The glow vanished from his eyes, mistrust still visible in now darker eyes. He didn’t let her up just yet, the energy in his hand dissipating. Jerking her hood back, he seemed taken aback at what he saw. 

 

“ _ Andraste’s burning bloomers... _ you’re just a kid...I am so sorry…” he muttered. 

 

Aenor’s lips twisted in irritation at the term. “I’m no child anymore. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather we get out of here  _ before _ anyone else has a chance to try and kill us.” 

 

He let her go at that, reaching to help her up. Brushing herself off, she pulled her hood back into place. Like it would make any kind of difference at all, she shook his hand while she still had a grip on it. “Aenor Kennedy. I can’t very well call you  _ mage _ , you must have a name?” 

 

He kept a nervous focus on the happenings around them before answering. “Anders. Just Anders.” 

 

At that, she pulled him along behind her, searching for an easier path out. If it was just her, she could scale the wall and be done with it, but he didn’t look much like the climbing type. Of course the way was blocked, how the bloody hell was she supposed to get him out of this?

 

“Looks like you could use a hand, no?” a voice called from up high. 

 

Blonde hair blew in the breeze, a length of rope coiled around his shoulder. Tossing it down, he tipped his head towards Anders. Her hands worked quickly, securing it as tightly as she felt comfortable tying it around his waist. Holding a finger to her lips she then pointed up. 

“Stay here for just a moment. I’ll go help him pull you up.” she said. 

 

“Oh, no. This is fine, it’s not like anyone wants me  _ dead _ .” he answered pleasantly, despite the obvious sarcasm. 

 

Aenor climbed the wall as quickly as she could, briefly thinking she had surely beaten her own record with how fast she had managed it. Working together, they were able to pull Anders up and lower him safely to the other side. Tucking the edge in her belt so he wouldn’t try to run while he had the chance, she worked her way back down, the other man following. Pointing the direction, the three ran as far as they could before needed to stop so Anders could catch his breath. Slumping to the ground, he held up a hand, and she turned to face their helper.

 

“I knew it was you, little kitten. I saw you enter the city, and wondered what you might be up to.” he explained. 

 

Her hand dipped under her collar, pulling out the necklace curiously. “How did you know it was me, without seeing this?” 

 

“My eyes never lie. I would recognize you a mile away. You have that same way of moving you did back then, a little confidence to your step.” he chuckled. 

 

“You know each other then, Zevran?” Anders asked. 

 

“We met briefly, when this one was merely a child. I’ve known her….oh, perhaps mere minutes longer than I’ve known you.” he said with a shrug. “May I assume from the wardrobe change that you have indeed kept your promise?” 

 

Anders eyed him suspiciously, a visible frown on his face. “Please tell me you didn’t make a pass at a child? Bad enough that you tried to get Hawke to go for it, and he’s not always the brightest torch.” 

 

Lost in the back and forth between the two, she admitted to herself at least that she was completely confused. Zev shook his head, matching the look on his face.

 

“I did no such thing.  _ Would  _ do no such thing. Give it another year and perhaps it would be a different story. As for Hawke, I consider it a sign of respect more than anything. I did not realize he was already taken care of, nor that his little Dalish friend was so insistent he not have any fun in his life.” he said, as if it really made no difference to him. “If it’s all the same to you, I would rather we save this endearing reunion for a place that is marginally safer from pursuit.” 

 

“I think I can manage now.” Anders muttered, moving to stand once more. 

 

Certainly she was curious to know what happened, and why both feared being chased after. This was neither the time nor the place to discuss it, not with a few days’ walk back to the fortress. What she wouldn’t do for a carriage right about then, but this was arguably better on foot. A carriage would be easier on the feet, but walking meant they wouldn’t have to experience several unwashed days in far too close quarters. Close to the sea, on foot? They’d have plenty of opportunities to avoid being rank. 

 

“We can set camp for a few hours once we’re safely out of range.” she instructed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to include Zevran, primarily since he is also an assassin. I really want to add in more later, especially Altair, Ezio, Arno, Jacob and Edward, and I have a few ideas how to add them in. This is alternate canon so I'm taking a bit of liberties here with the respective timelines...


	4. The Kirkwall Contract (Pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the odd feels-er-coaster this might have turned out to be. I'm not sure.

A month had passed since her mission. Zev had once again gone off on his own, whereas Anders was allowed to stay, provided he earn his stay. The fortress was no inn, and those not of the Order were typically allowed to remain beyond what usefulness they could provide. The exception for him was made largely because the information he had was seen as useful for an ongoing amount of time. Connall’s absence was absolutely on her mind. She went to the docks frequently, passing the hours with Edward Kenway, a man a few years older than her. He craved the sea, and occasionally took to her aboard a cargo ship called  _ La Principessa Avida;  The Greedy Princess. _ They spoke at length a few times about his desire to Captain his own ship one day. He took immediate note of her pacing, the way her eyes nervously scanned the distance from time to time. 

 

“What’s on your mind, lass?” he finally asked. 

 

“Shouldn’t he have come home by now?” she wondered. “You said before Ferelden was only around two weeks time? I can’t imagine he hasn’t had enough time to finish his business there. I feel uneasy…” 

 

Edward took a swig from the bottle in his hand, torn between trying to reassure her and being realistic about the timeframe. “Aye. Probably should be home any day, I’d imagine.”

 

Aenor stepped to the edge of the pier, sitting near him, feet dangling in the water. He held out the bottle in offering, knowing full well she had drank before. Not often, perhaps, but it wasn’t as though she wasn’t considered old enough by Marcher standards. She took it, taking a healthy drink before she passed it back, though he refused it. Holding up another, he shook his head. 

 

“Keep it, should calm you down some.” he told her. “How’s your friend doing?” 

 

“Anders? I’m not sure we’re friends, I’ve never bothered to ask. He seems well though, adjusting decently, and his skills are useful. Got cut in practice the other day and he fixed it right up. Amazing what mages are capable of.” she mused quietly. 

 

“Good to keep your skills up though. Some go lax between missions once they’re in. Think they don’t need to keep training anymore. You got a good head on your shoulders.” he paused to uncork the fresh bottle in his hand, wetting his mouth before continuing. “Should have had him treat that cut. It’s scarred already.” 

 

Aenor shook her head at that, lifting a shoulder in indifference. “I don’t mind it. I should have been more cautious in the first place. It’s a reminder of that, for the future.” 

 

The conversation continued at times, hours passing slowly. The sky grew darker, and she finally stood, empty bottle cast away. Edward glanced up at her, noticing the way she shivered. Even for the extra precautions on her robes, it did tend to get a tad chilly at night. Rising up to join her, he draped his coat around her shoulders, nodding to the cargo ship. “Empty right now. Could go in and warm up. Still time for his ship to turn up anyway.” 

 

He held out his hand to her, and she took it, a bit shaky in her steps. Had been many years since she’d been on any kind of boat, not since her arrival. It surprised her how it rocked on the water, even for being anchored, and it made her already unsteady steps harder. Fine practice in case she ever had need to take on a contract for someone who travelled by water, if nothing else. Below deck, crates of supplies were held down by ropes, unmoving save for the tiniest shifting. There was a table secured to the floor, chairs spread around it, overturned cards spread along the surface. A few rooms an area just past all the boxes, the largest of which she naturally assumed was where the Captain slept, if and when he actually did, she knew nothing of ships. Perhaps he rarely slept, forced to maintain the wheel all day and all night until they made port. 

 

“Do you sleep down here too?” she wondered. 

 

Edward scratched at the back of his neck. Unsure how best to answer that. “I do.” 

 

“Can I see it? Your room, I mean.” she clarified. 

 

The hand still holding hers flexed slightly, a kind of nervous tension to it now. “Aye, just this once though. Shouldn’t ever ask a man that, lass. ‘Tis a dangerous question, ‘specially for you.” 

 

Opening the door, he let her in before he closed it. Not much to it besides a bed, a drawer with a few shirts jutting from the side and a table, absent of anything really. “What do you mean?” 

 

“Kennedy confided in me once. Asked me to watch over you if ever he had to leave you alone.” he began, unsure if he should bring it up. “Elves are...well I’m sure you’ve heard the stories, they aren’t treated well. Slaves, servants, prostitution, some end up dead in the middle of the street and no one seems to notice. He didn’t -- doesn’t want that for you, that’s why he brought you here. Thought even becoming an assassin and knowing how to protect yourself was a better alternative to what could happen had he left you behind.” He observed her look of confusion, sighing uneasily. “Aye, I heard the story. Even here, word gets around. 

 

A roll of waves bounced the ship harder than it had previously, tossing her into his chest. Aenor tried to move back, but between the mild intoxication and the roughening waters, she had no chance. 

 

“Sorry, I...I’ll move once I get the chance.” she said stubbornly. 

 

“Here, let me help.” he offered. 

 

Taking both her hands, he took a step towards her. The ship lurched back again, falling to the bed with her, staring down at her. He could guess at the cause of the sudden waves, but at the same time, he didn’t want to get her hopes up. At times, when larger vessels came to dock, the waters around it grew a bit choppy. He was prepared to explain it, but when next he looked, she was coming towards him. Her lips landed crookedly on his, and for the life of him, he didn’t know why. He pressed a hand to her side, trying to break the contact, even as his brain failed to make it happen, wrestling with her lips. Managing to pull away, he finally won the fight with himself, speaking between quicker, chaste kisses. 

 

“Mm...Mm-m…” he protested slightly. “We...shouldn’t...do...this.” 

 

It was absolutely not because he simply wasn’t interested, that was hardly the case. Not even the scant few years difference. Not wanting to fully explain his reasoning to her, his mind settled on making her a deal. 

 

“Why not?” she asked, words almost melting together. 

 

“That’s why, lass. I’ll tell you what. If this is  _ really _ something you want, then there’s no harm in it if you wait until you sober up a bit. I don’t want you regretting it later, and I don’t want Kennedy to have to think I took advantage of you.” he told her. The waves were settling, enough for him to get back on his feet, pulling her up with him. “Let’s go up. Think the last ship of the night arrived.” 

 

At that, she practically pushed past him, uncaring of the once more gentle waves cradling the ship. He caught up with her in time to see his guess was correct. They got back to the dock, waiting for people to come out. Aenor perked up considerably when the first person stepped off, though the moment their eyes met, he instead pulled Edward aside, speaking quietly to him, too quietly for her to hear. 

 

“Kenway, was the name, right?” he inquired, to which Edward nodded. “The girl. Take her inside, and keep her there for a bit. Don’t want her to have to see this.” 

 

Her uneasy feeling was correct, after all, it seemed. Something wasn’t right at all. Returning to her side, he reached for her hand again, gesturing with his chin towards the doors. “Come on lass, let’s wait inside. Don’t want to get in people’s way.” 

 

Glancing back over her shoulder, he didn’t stop, pulling her to follow. He wasn’t usually so insistent with her, and it only added to her concern. Relenting though, she willingly followed him, all the way back to her room. Her eyes spoke volumes where her words didn’t, and he shook his head, trying to wordlessly tell her that, no, he hadn’t changed his mind. She knelt to reach in the bottom draw of the dresser by the bed, fetching dry wraps for her legs. From that angle, her hair shifted, the tattoo she had received visible in its entirety on the back of her neck. Most opted to wear it on the robes, but some took it as a more permanent display. He leaned against the wall, watching her unwrap the leather from around her legs and off the gentle arches of her feet, tossing them across the room before busying herself redoing it. 

 

It reminded him briefly that he had never seen her in boots, preferring it this way. At least that was what she once told him, an elven thing, his thoughts told him. A single knock at the door served as a signal that he no longer had to keep her there. 

 

“Ah, he must have come back. Let’s go greet him.” she mumbled. 

 

Again, she rushed out the door before he had a chance to follow, hastening his steps to keep up with her shorter, quicker rhythm. He’d liked to have warned her first, but then, he hadn’t been privy to what condition he arrived in, and if he told her and was wrong, she’d be upset. The man from before caught up with her in the yard, hand out to halt her. A small group was heading for a single room, not a place people usually gathered. 

 

“Miss Kennedy, are you sure you want to go in there?” he asked curiously. 

 

“Of course I do, please step aside, I want to see babae.” she mumbled, her voice slightly higher in pitch with concern. “Forgive my rudeness, I am anxious…” 

 

The man looked away, hand falling to his side. “No...you’re absolutely right. I only hope it does not trouble you overmuch.” 

 

Aenor quickly pushed past the people moving slowly out of the way and into the room. Edward several steps behind her when he heard the shriek she let off. Even injured, she never made a sound like that. Rushing in, he froze next to her, his eyes falling to the ground in front of her. She pressed her hand to her mouth, muffled sobs crawling free from her throat. No wonder he hadn’t returned as quickly as she felt he should have. Laid out before them was the damaged, rigid body of the man she called father. It felt as though her heart was shattering and disintegrating at the same, painful moment, dropping to her knees, arms thrown around his neck. She knew it wouldn’t bring him back, knew there was no way to do so, the scent of death and decay heavy on his skin, clinging to his robes. 

 

“Come now, child. He must be prepared for his burial. His memory will be honored, I promise you.” an older man told her. “You have to let go now…” 

 

She shook her head vehemently, unwilling to move even a little. Perhaps she couldn’t move, even had she willed it. A larger man pried her off him as gently as he could, lifting her away easily so a small group could take him away from her one last time. The doors to the room they took him to closed, a heavy thud barring entry from the other side. It felt cold, cruel even for one who had long since learned how to harden her heart to death and fear. The moment she was set down, instead of flailing uselessly at the door as they assumed she might, instead, she turned around. Rushing back to her room, she wiped her tears away, slamming the door behind her. Not long after, a voice called to her through the door. 

 

“Aenor, may I come in?” a woman’s voice, it sounded like Reid.

She gave no answer, and out of concern, Reid began to open the door. It shocked her when there was resistance pushing back against her. It grew cold to the touch, ice crawling through the slight gap in the spaces along the frame.  _ Magic _ . There was a suspicion around the time of the Blight, near her tenth birthday, when the dummy she was practicing on caught fire unexpectedly, but there had been no further incidents. Connall had been present when the group was called to discuss the possibility. He had been very against the idea of having to send her to a Circle, claiming they were not governed by the Chantry, had no connection to any religion, Andrastian or otherwise. Reasoned that they would not wish an  _ assassin _ to be closed up inside, and that leaving her alone with any Templar, whether or not they had malicious intent was completely unacceptable to him. Ultimately it was decided that should she turn out to be a mage, they would  _ not _ turn her over, following the logic that she was one of their own, and controlled properly, it could only add to her abilities as an assassin. The wall of ice receded slowly as her footsteps vanished down the hall, not realizing she meant to return with the very mage she had brought to them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I intended her to be a mage all along. In the games, some mention they came into their powers early on, (ie, 9-10)


	5. First Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months after the loss of her father and the discovery of her powers, a poor night of sleep sends Aenor face to face with a Desire Demon offering more than she might be able to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's like a really small moment of smut in here.

9:38 Dragon 

 

This was no ordinary dream. Most times, when she slept it was never long enough to see more than the backs of her eyelids. The voices that called to her when she tried for more made her uneasy. Anders had said it was called the Fade, a place one went when they slept, and the voices? Spirits and demons that lived there. She knew nothing of those things, save for the one spirit she knew of, the one entwined with Anders himself, Justice, he called it. Looking up to the sky, masses of rocks floated, looming just above like they were frozen, suspended in place. In the distance, little more than a shadow in the strange fog, it appeared to be a black castle. Unexpectedly, her legs moved easily, and though she couldn’t say there was a defined path, unable to wake herself up, she began walking. 

 

As ominous as it was, the view was...what was that word...there was a word babae would use…

 

Searching her mind for that one word, it surprised her when a hand reached out. Barely touching her shoulder, she jumped away, whirling around. 

 

“Mozzafiato.” the figure offered. 

 

It looked like a woman, draped about the waist in a loose sash of rich fabric, intricately designed. Her form was delicate, beautiful, undressed from the waist up save for detached, ruffled sleeves and a necklace that extended into clasps over her nipples, a length of gold chain extended between them. Her skin was an unusual shade of purple, no hair to speak of. Purple flames gracing the places where hair might have grown, her eyes alluring, but frightening all the same. Notably, she bore horns on her head, not human in the least except a passing resemblance in form. The word she used was indeed the one she had been searching for, and of course she seemed kind enough. Anders had warned her away from this very thing, though. 

 

“You’re a demon, aren’t you? Be gone from my sight, I will have no dealings with  _ you _ .” she spat. 

 

She reached out again, a finger drawing along her throat, lifting her by the chin to look up at her properly. A smile pulled at her lips, Aenor feeling the tension draining from her little by little, as though her very will to leave was vanishing, as though her eyes were stealing it from her. 

 

“You say that, and yet you aren’t moving. I can see what you want, know what you crave most. I can give you what you desire…” she purred. 

 

_ No. No. No. her mind repeated that one word more forcefully each time, and yet it was a lie to say her curiosity wasn’t piqued even a little. Doubtful this demon could know her in such a way, and would surely not be able to give her what she claimed. Aenor wanted to hear it anyway.  _

 

“Then tell me,  _ Demon _ . What do you think I want, what is in my heart, if you truly can see it?” she challenged. 

 

Leaning closer, her palms rested flat on her head, eyes fixed intently on hers. “I see many things. The name long vanished from your mind, the faces you can no longer recall. I know who and what you miss the most, and I can give it all to you, more if you choose. I can give you anything. Wealth, power, beauty beyond compare, teach you things beyond your wildest fantasies. Even myself, if that is what you want.” 

 

“What do you mean by a name? I need no wealth, I have power, and I care not for beauty.” she scoffed. 

“ _ Evanura Lavellan… _ ”she said. “The name you lost.” 

 

Aenor pulled away from her touch as if that was more than enough. In her mind, the demon had failed to offer anything she would ever bargain for. “I have a name, the name my babae gave me, the one I intend to wear to my grave.” 

 

Turning her back to her, she took a step before another voice rang out. “Aenor...you do not wish to join me so quickly, sweet thing. Be  _ smart _ about this.” 

 

That voice sent a chill down her spine, and a shock of pain to her heart. It was not him, could not be him. Anders explained the tricks of the Fade, the dead did not pass through, they were just gone, and no amount of magic, demon or otherwise, could change that.  _ Still.  _ Turning slowly, she was met with the form of her father, the demon gesturing to him as if it were nothing at all for her to do such a thing. 

 

“Don’t play games with me. I know better than to trust my eyes here. That is not him!” she shouted. 

 

“You sadden me. I am so very disappointed that you would not remember. That you would refuse more time with me. I assumed I meant more to you, but perhaps your gratitude for having your life intact left the world the moment I did.” he muttered sadly. 

 

“I can give you what you want, child. I can restore him to life, there by your side when you wake up once more.” she repeated. Chuckling softly, she went on. “Or perhaps you’d like a less selfish wish. There is someone else who holds meaning to you, is there not? Perhaps you’d like that ship he so desires. I can make him a Captain, put him  _ eternally  _ in your debt. Make him  _ grateful  _ to you. Wouldn’t you like that?” 

 

While there was no manifestation of him, his voice echoed clearly as if he was. “You shouldn’t have, lass...really though, for me? I can...I can really have her?” there was a pause, and her hand once more touched her, finger resting between her eyebrows, visions swimming in her mind, the voice confined within her mind. 

 

“This is…” his words failed him. He led her inside, just below the deck. Without a crew, it was empty inside, and he turned to face her, smirking. “Let me repay you…” 

 

Firm hands clasped her waist, lifting her to rest on a long wooden bar, bottles and glasses rolling to the floor in a hail of shattering glass. His lips found hers, biting, pulling, just short of devouring her. The heat of his hands pressed to the curve of her hips, down her thighs and up under her robes, scorching her bare skin. Edward hoisted himself up, spread against her, the weight and warmth of his body felt like he was right there. He broke the kiss, panting in her ear, nipping at her lobe a moment before the heat of his words brushed against it, a shock tearing through her spine. 

 

“I want you…” he breathed. “Can you feel it? See the things you do to me?” 

 

Her eyes snapped open, cast darker in the dim light. She shook her head, a low rolling growl hanging in her throat. “How  _ dare _ you use those things against me. Use my grief, and my own thoughts against me like this? I said  _ be gone, Demon.” _

 

“Are you really so sure? I will leave if you wish it, but not so easily as you might hope.” she sighed. 

 

Aenor looked at herself, realizing she had changed for bed. She wore a loose black tunic, laces untied, hanging loosely against her chest. Pocketless pants, and wrapped feet completed the look, and it struck her she had no weapons on her, unarmed here. This place where magic ruled, she was defenseless. Could she even kill a demon bare handed? What little magic she could recall using had happened unbidden, and even with lessons, she couldn’t say if she could control it, or if it would be enough. 

 

The spectre of her father vanished, her face taut with visible anger at her refusal. With a wave of her hand she laid her out, flat on her back. Aenor scrabbled to put some distance between them at the demon’s approach, cold laughter ringing out. 

 

“You should have taken my offer, you cannot hope to win against me... “ she sneered. 

 

Her hand reached down, clenching her throat tightly. She couldn’t breath, clawing uselessly at the hand blocking her air. Knees tucked around her hips too hard to push her off. This felt so familiar, energy swirling in her hand. It felt as though time slowed, inching closer to her, moments from her inevitable death. Not at all as she pictured it might go, she always figured she’d die someday, too slow to react, perhaps aged, bones aching from a life lived too hard for her body. Her vision began to blacken, and she reached out, her fingers connecting weakly with her lips for a moment. Eyes closing slowly, she heard a screech, a loud sound seconds before. A rush of air filled her lungs, freed from the crushing grip. Aenor pushed herself up slowly, the return of proper blood flow making her head throb painfully. The demon had been burned, stunned shock keeping her from getting back up once more. 

 

Aenor crawled over, kneeling on her chest to keep her down. 

 

_ Please...please work, I don’t have anything left… _ she begged silently. 

 

Focusing as intently as she could manage, her hand began to glow, frost crawling along her palm and up her arm. At the last moment, her thoughts wavered, wishing she had at least the hidden blades on her, a shard of ice formed along her wrist. Like she had found salvation, Aenor slashed across her throat, plunging the blade into her chest, a faint rattle accompanying the demon’s last moments. 

 

“Aenor, wake up...come on now.” she heard. 

 

Her eyes opened slowly, taking a deep breath. Anders hovered over her, a serious look on his face. “Been calling you for ages, girl. You didn’t answer the door, so I came in to check. Tossing and turning and gasping like you couldn’t breathe.” 

 

“I don’t think I want to sleep again, ever.” Aenor complained. “If there’s more of those creatures, I don’t want any part of it.” 

 

“Then it’s lucky enough it was  _ you _ that I woke up.” he said. “They’ll insist you get a grip on it now.  _ I _ would insist you learn to use it properly, a demon in a body as capable of killing as yours? That would be a problem no one needs.” 

 

“She used him against me…” she mumbled, as if reviewing what happened. 

 

“I am sorry. I did not get the chance to meet Connall, but I hear he was a good man.” Anders offered quietly. 

 

“It wasn’t just him. I’m surprised I resisted that much so well. I thought for sure when I saw him, I’d not be able to stop myself.” she told him. “I need to dress. I’ll be out shortly.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will come in handy at least twice in the future. I ended it where I did because I can't resist the urge to add in something a bit more mature. The next chapter will be a continuation of this one, mostly smut. The good news is it will probably be skippable.

9:39 Dragon

 

Being fair, Aenor had never imagined what nineteen would be like as a child. Never considered much following mamae around like a lost mabari. Not much beyond plopping down to listen to the storyteller spin captivating stories on their history, tales of the fall of Arlathan, ones she couldn’t quite comprehend entirely at the time. Dutifully, she watched the halla keeper tend the herd, and it never once occurred to her to question that anything might ever change. Even when it did, and this became her life, nineteen never crossed her mind. Forget that she’d kill yet before she became a woman, or that she’d ever learn she could weave a spell the way mamae did. It just never struck her to think back. Between leaning for the occasional job, much of her time had been occupied with not letting her skills waste away, and Anders’ unexpectedly strict teaching. He was supposed to have been around for months, not years, but he was still useful to them, now as a means to not only provide insight into Templar movement, but to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally set fire to the place and burn it down. It was coming along decently, no expert, same with her normal skillset, but at least she could  _ control _ it, no need to worry about it failing her. 

 

It had been a little different lately, focusing on her ability to blend in anywhere now. She had largely been relegated to staying unseen before. Something she could manage with ease, but this? Purposely standing out was nothing short of bewildering to her. Reid stood behind her, towered was more accurate, even for a woman grown, she was still shorter, not nearly as broad as human women were. She freed the last of the pins from her hair, her normally relatively straight hair (with a deviant wave here and there), now fell to her chest in tight red curls. She moved to remove the necklace she wore, intent on replacing it with something much fancier. 

 

“No!” Aenor insisted. “Please. Leave it, it’s important to me.” 

 

Reid rolled her eyes slowly, but relented. She knew the Crow had given it to her almost a decade ago, but to her it didn’t seem like it should be important, considering how rarely he showed his face these days. She could guess that the reason was it being the first gift anyone besides Connall had ever given her, but the sentimentality did her no favors. She busied herself hastily peeling off her robes, helping her into a fine green dress with too many layers for her taste. It smelled like the sea, with hints of spice to it, vaguely familiar but not from personal memory. 

 

“Antivan?” she asked. 

 

“Yes. Antiva is closer, and less pretentious than those bastards in Orlais. Also cheaper.” she added. 

 

Clearly, she had no love for Orlesians, but then again, she’d never really had the chance to meet anyone who called it home, save for a few far too short encounters with messere Dorian, and he seemed fine, if a little cheeky at times.

 

“I don’t like this. It feels strange…” she mumbled, tugging at the sleeves anxiously. 

 

Aenor supported herself on her shoulders when she bent to settle her into a pair of low heels, the feel even less pleasant on her feet than a pair of boots might have been. Fidgeting in place, Reid shook her head helplessly. 

 

“See what I mean? A woman should have experience in a dress. I’ll help you as far as the hall, and from there, you’re on your own. You must learn to walk on your own, to dance if you must.” Reid explained. 

 

“Assassins don’t throw parties.” she huffed. “Do they?” 

 

“Not under normal circumstances, but that does not mean you will never have need to  _ attend _ one. You’ll stand out in the wrong ways if you show you have no idea what you’re doing.” she explained. “Now, not another word from you oinu.” 

Why did everyone insist on calling her such strange things?  _ Sweet thing, little kitten, and now ‘little rabbit’ _ . She had never questioned it before, it was endearing in an odd way, but she had to wonder what it was that gave people these impressions about herself. Reid took a hold of her arm, leading her as she promised out to the yard, her steps shaky, jerking almost. These blasted things were already upsetting her, and only minutes after being put into them, she was ready to toss them aside. To say nothing of her inability to breathe properly. She dearly hoped it wouldn’t ever come down to having to go to any festivities if it meant being in a getup like this. She let go almost too soon, forcing her to steady herself, shamed nearly by the eyes watching her normally nimble body shake and jitter to a stop. 

 

Reid returned just as she had regained her balance, gesturing to the man beside her, not one she was familiar with beyond seeing him around from time to time. “This will be your instructor for tonight. He has experience in many useful customs and dances, you will take care to learn well.” 

 

Reid made her exit and the man before her bowed. Aenor blinked once, unsure what the cause was for, until he demonstrated again. “A lady must know these things. Do as I have.” 

 

Lady? Hardly. Ladies didn’t do the things she did, proper ladies didn’t have drinking contests and could probably figure these things out already. Probably knew how to use a complete table set and had manners, none of which she could say she did. Regardless, she did as he had shown her. The lack of festivities and milling people pausing to watch said that part of this was to learn to throw herself into a situation and get familiar with it even without the correct atmosphere. Assassins didn’t throw parties, meaning without getting caught up in a mission that required infiltration of this manner and  _ not _ knowing what to do was the alternative. Spun that way, Aenor was willing to learn if it meant not making a complete ass of herself in the future. 

 

The sky was beginning to darken before he called an end to the teaching for the day, leaving her with one final word of advice.

 

“Nobility can be notoriously difficult to please, and quick with a grudge. You do not wish to draw the wrong kind of attention. It will be hard enough for you.” he paused, gesturing to her ears. “When humans may question why you are among their numbers,  _ not _ pouring their drinks or scrubbing floors.” 

 

Aenor scowled at that. Naturally she never forgot what she was, or what she had been spared. It never made her any less irritated to hear it. “Then would not trying to sneak in under the guise of being a servant be more to my benefit?” 

 

He shook his head at that. “I can already see the way you feel about it in your eyes. Tell me you wouldn’t toss your beliefs out the window the moment someone hits you, with or without cause, or tries to force themselves on you because there’s  _ nothing _ you can do about it, you wouldn’t kill said person?” 

 

Aenor idly nudged the ground with her foot, not looking up at him. He was absolutely right, she’d be far too ready to strike. It was best to endure any comments and proceed this way, even an elf posing as nobility was more favorable than pretending to be someone who was entitled to even less courtesy and respect. Recalling the one time she thought to question the point of studying things she couldn’t possibly have a use for, Connall had simply told her she never knew  _ what _ she would need in the future and it was always best to have the upper hand. She was being stubborn, and she knew it, there was every possibility that this could be useful and she was only fighting it because...well, honestly because she hated being trapped in these clothes. The heels that hurt her feet, the tightly laced corset suffocating her and the heavy layers of the dress that restricted her movement just enough to be unpleasant. 

 

The intention was clear, prepare her for anything she might have need of, whether it be a formal situation, or, she could only assume, something less desirable than this. Reid mentioned before she once had to pose as a prostitute, had to deal with people touching her and calling her names, treating her like an object. Nothing serious had happened, as she recalled, and her contract was fulfilled without incident. Beyond that, it was both advice and a warning that she would have plenty of situations she didn’t like in her future for the sake of getting what was needed. 

 

Training over for the night, she made her way to the docks. If nothing else, Edward might have something to drink to numb the pain. Might even share a good laugh at how ridiculous she looked in such a thing, laugh at the nobles who probably wore this kind of thing daily. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is smut. It can be skipped if you so choose, doesn't have a lot of bearing on the story.

Edward was nowhere to be found at the docks, unusual considering that was usually where he spent his time. She’d have sighed if she wasn’t slowly being suffocated by this monstrosity. Precariously, she managed to bend and retrieve her heels, sweet relief. Aenor headed for her room once more, deciding the next best thing was to get out of it as quickly as possible. The short trip felt like it took forever, as did peeling away the dress. Sitting down to hopefully give her more range to reach the lacing of her corset, she finally gave up. Apparently she’d just have to die in this thing, if it didn’t kill her itself. Between the rustling layers and her groans of frustration, she failed to hear the knock on the door, frowning at the slight chuckle she heard. 

 

“What a sight, lass. You okay in there?” he asked. 

 

“As a matter of fact, I’m not.” she huffed. “Glad you’re here, help me out of this mess.” 

 

His eyes widened slightly. He of course knew what she meant, but that did nothing to change the way his mind spun it. Crossing the room, he rested one knee on the bed, the other draped on the floor. It didn’t look the least bit comfortable, and he’d have happily cut it off for her if he didn’t think Reid would be furious. 

 

“Gonna need ya to sit still, can’t get ahold of it proper with all that squirming…” he mumbled. 

 

Once she stopped moving, he managed to unlace it, leaning back when she tossed it across the room after taking a deep breath. Curious, he grabbed up her skirts, counting the layers. Six of them, six bloody layers of petticoats and a thin gown under all of that besides. He had his doubts that she’d ever have to show up anywhere  _ that _ formal. Not unless the Empress of Orlais Herself saw fit to need her presence, and the odds of that were quite minimal. Finally calmed down some, she turned to face him finally, eyes closing slowly as his lips found hers. It wasn’t his intent to kiss her, he had simply come to visit a moment before he turned in for the night. About to pull away and apologize, her arms looped around his neck, she was kissing him damned if his mind didn’t wander off without him. He eased her back, hands anchored on her waist, tongue easily finding its way in her mouth, and she was warm, pliant under him. This was the second time this had happened, and this time, there was no excuse not to, nothing stopping him from giving in except her, and she wasn’t fighting it. 

 

Her slim fingers slid up into his hair, moaning faintly. He wasn’t exactly new to this sort of thing, but the awkward way she touched him explained enough to him, she  _ was.  _ Then again, it wasn’t really like she ever had enough free time. His hand dipped under the layers, tracing patterns up her leg, biting at her lip. He parted from her lips, looking down at her, it hadn’t taken much for her to erase the thought of stopping from his thoughts, but he had to know.

 

“Last chance, lass. What’ll it be?” he asked. 

 

Edward knew by the look on her face, she wasn’t expecting the question. Hadn’t figured there’d be an option to tell him to get lost if she felt the need to. It wasn’t the answer he was looking for, nor was he expecting a question out of it. 

 

“I’m still here, aren’t I? Question is...are you sure I’m alright?” she wondered. 

 

Should have thought it through. She’d been reminded of just how people outside these walls treated her kind, and never once did she fail to comprehend she was different. It never crossed his mind to think she might wonder what the people  _ inside _ thought of her. He kissed her again, briefly this time, palm squeezing her hip. 

 

“You’ve become quite the woman, lovely.” he kissed her once more, punctuating his words with his lips. “I’m not blind. I’ve  _ noticed. _ Your ears don’t define you, lass. I don’t see any difference.” 

 

He closed the gap between them again, nibbling her earlobe, trailing kisses down her neck. She shivered at the contact, turning her head to the side in offering. He greedily bit and sucked a path across her collarbone, her hips jolting. His fingertips creeped down her thigh, rubbing against her underwear, thankfully nothing in the way of them. It wasn’t much, but enough to have her soaked through already, and it hadn’t escaped him that her door had no lock. As much as he’d like to take his time it was a very real possibility someone could wander in and getting interrupted wasn’t in his plans. Not to mention, she’d surely be troubled by it as well. Edward shifted, kneeling between her legs, lifting hers to rest over his hips, enough to rid her of the petticoats, letting them fall off the edge of the bed. Drawing her nightgown up, he winked at her, her expression shifting between nervousness and awe. He dipped his hand under her panties, thumb brushing against her clit, his left hand cupping her breast. At the moment, he despised the slip still covering her, but for the moment, it let her keep her modesty as a contingency plan. 

 

She bit her lip when he slipped a finger in, slow and easy, curling in her. It was obvious she liked it, but at the same time one would hardly be enough to get her ready for him. Adding a second one, he let her get used to the feeling before spreading them, a soft whimper low in her throat. This wasn’t likely to be comfortable for her, and it occurred to him to kiss her again, her tongue twining with his. Distracted for the moment, he carefully slid a third in, plenty to give her a small taste of the way it would feel. Aenor cringed under him, shifting like she was torn between trying to pull away and wanting more. Even with the discomfort, he could feel her walls tensing against his digits, knew she was getting close. Her cries vibrated in his mouth, tinged with need. Moments more and her shaky hold collapsed, legs trembling, clumsily trying to ride it out on his fingers. He waited for her to come down completely before he pulled his hand free, easing her down. Breaking the kiss again, he moved to stand, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the look on her face, like she was concerned he was leaving. 

 

“I’m not goin’ anywhere...just need a moment.” he assured her. 

 

He had to have broken a record getting his trousers off, leaving them where they lay. Pulling his shirt over his head, he dropped it in the growing pile of clothes. Her gaze drifted lower, face flushing brighter, and he grinned almost proudly. Returning to her side, he took her hand gently, bringing it to rest on his shaft. Her hand curled around it, unable to close completely, following his guidance until he let go to let her do it by herself. 

 

“Think ye can handle it?” he asked. 

 

Her tongue swept across her lips, thinking about it rather seriously for a time before she finally shrugged.

 

“Won’t know unless I try, right?” she countered. 

 

Edward brushed her hand away slowly, leaning her back again. Easing her legs apart, he moved between them, focused on the space between her breasts. He bit firmly, sucking a bruise into the skin, pleased with her gasp. He didn’t want to mark up her neck where anyone could see, but he couldn’t resist leaving her a little reminder for later. Lining up to her, his hips arched against her, groaning in mild relief when she spread around him. Easing into her a little at a time, she hissed out under her breath, nails scraping at the sheets. Aenor lifted her legs, pressed to his sides, trying to bring him closer. He obliged her wishes, burying himself fully inside of her, stilling for a few moments. When he set the pace, she gasped, quickly covering her mouth, footsteps echoing down the hall. He could do little about the sound of skin slapping together, and while he tried to keep quiet, he couldn’t help it. Her hands clutched his arms, trying to counter his rhythm, awkward at first until she fell into it. The steps grew fainter, and he heaved a sigh of relief, picking up the pace. 

 

“Isala...elvar…” she panted. 

 

He didn’t understand the words, but the way she said them made him shiver with lust. Her fingers squeezed his arms firmly, and he was certain he knew what it was she wanted. 

 

“Alright lass, hold on.” he told her. 

 

Pulling free, she whined softly. He got her to turn over, pulling her up on her knees, her hands slipping under her pillow. Moving her slip up past her hips, he slid back in, a bit easier this time. Reaching under her, his fingers found her clit once more, rubbing against her slowly. Thrusting against her harder this time, she moaned into her pillow, pushing back towards him. He’d swear he heard her curse, smirking at the thought. He felt her squeezing him again, knowing she was just about there again. He guided her back against him faster, a wavering string of moans accompanying her orgasm, legs threatening to buckle if not for his hold. The way she quivered around him was bringing his own end closer, grinding into her harder, muscles drawing tighter. Fire pooled in his stomach, static tingles shooting through his nerves, unable to mute his nearly-growled pants. Holding her steady, he probed her deeply, his release hitting him harder than he expected. He slid free, rolling to his back beside her, tugging her closer to kiss her again, looking her over quietly. 

 

“Ma ane palasha…” she sighed, her fingers brushing against his jaw slowly. 

 

“One o’ these days you’ll have to teach me what these things mean, lass.” he chuckled. 

 

Seeking out his ear, she whispered it in his ear, like she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

 

“Is that so? I think you have it backwards.” he said. 

 

Edward moved her to sit over him, staring up at her. Taking a deep breath, he turned his focus to the door briefly. 

 

“Do you have to leave?” she asked curiously. 

 

“Not particularly. I could stay if you’d like me to.” he told her. “Do have to set out again in the mornin’ though.” 

 

“Then stay until morning.” she said. 

 

Pulling her down against him, he slid his arms around her waist, sighing in the curve of her neck. Should probably get dressed, but at the moment he had neither the energy nor the will to get up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use Project Elvhen for the language. http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848 
> 
> Translations:  
> Isala: to need, to lust, to desperately desire, to desire sexually  
> Elvar: hard  
> Ma ane palasha: sexy, attractive


	8. Chapter 8

9:41 Dragon

 

A lot had changed in just two short years. The Captain of La Principessa Avida had passed from illness, and Edward, was put in his place. It was hardly the grand ship he had dreamed of, but it was a start. Aenor had received a new set of robes, slightly more ornate than her last ones. Reid had been sent away to cooperate with their brothers and sisters in Rivain. Lowering her hood, she dropped down just behind Edward, tapping his shoulder lightly. 

 

“Gettin’ better at sneakin’ up on me. Makes me a tad nervous, lass.” he chuckled. 

 

He noticed her distraction, turning his attention to the paper curled in her other hand. Nodding towards it, she unfurled it slowly, a map of Ferelden. In all her years, she had yet to venture there, though her work had since taken her many places, Antiva, Rivain for a short time and even to Orlais. 

 

“I’ve got orders. Infiltrate the Divine Conclave and kill one of its attendants.” she explained, shifting her weight to one side. “I’ve need of a seaworthy vessel, with a fearless Captain to see me across the Waking Sea. Know anyone who might fit the bill?” 

 

Pretending to think it over, he decided he wanted to see her reaction, holding back a smirk that would give it away too quickly. “Captain Bianchi should be settin’ off soon.” 

 

Her face fell, looking entirely dismayed. Raising an eyebrow, she playfully pushed his shoulder. “I was thinking more of Captain Kenway. He’s about the only one I’d trust to get me to my destination.” 

 

His chest puffed slightly at the roundabout praise. He waved her to follow, draping an arm loosely about her shoulders. Leaning against the wall across from her room, he waited. “Well then, lass. Get your things packed and we’ll set off.” 

 

“Just like that?” she asked, mildly surprised. 

 

“Just like that.” he repeated. “Good thing about being in charge is I can make decisions like that.” 

 

Aenor stood in the center of the room for a short time, trying to decide if she even needed anything besides what was already on her person. Scooping up a book from her bedside table, she returned to his side. He glanced at the book, wordlessly asking if that was really all she needed. Walking away without him, he moved to catch up with her, taking it to mean she was about as ready as she could be. The map of Thedas she had examined to figure out the length of the trip seemed like it was rather close, though it didn’t particularly trouble her to find out it was in fact, a two week journey. 

 

When the ship finally docked, Edward followed her as far as the Ferelden outpost before he had to go back. Her orders instructed her to find someone here who could further assist her in her time here, expected to be rather short in duration. 

 

“I look forward to seeing ye soon. I’m sure you’ll just  _ love _ it here.” he teased. 

 

“You’ll see me quicker’n you expect.” she grumbled. 

 

Not even here a day and she already found the place entirely unpleasant. Everything was either wet, or cold, or brown, or just dull in appearance. Watching him shrink in the distance, she finally went inside, looking over the map once more, propped against the wall. Damn, but that was going to be one hell of a walk. Preparing to hunt down this person who was supposed to help, she bumped into someone head first. Knocked the wind out of whoever it was, by the sound of it. 

 

“Ir abelas…” she cursed under her breath, two weeks of teaching Edward a bit of the language had caused her to fall back into it. “I’m sorry. I should have watched where I was going.” 

 

A shadow crossed her map, and she finally looked up, hazel eyes dangerously close to hers for just a moment. Dashing was one word that came to mind, trying to be objective about matters. 

 

“Let me guess. I like guessing.” he chuckled. “You’re from the Marches, what was the bloody name…” he looked almost upset for a moment, finger curled to his chin. He mumbled possibilities under his breath smacking his brow when it came to him. “Aenor Kennedy, that was the name.” 

 

Nodding to him, he placed a hand on her shoulder, leading her to a quiet seat in view of a simple garden. There was a garden back in the Marches, but nothing quite like this, not nearly as much color. Surprising considering there seemed to be so few just outside the doors. Sitting across from her, he propped his cane against the table. No limp that she could see, which meant only one thing in her mind. Blunt instrument, possibly with a blade concealed inside. He took the map from her, looking it over for a moment before he spoke again. 

 

“Not that I don’t believe you knew mine. It’s Jacob. Jacob Frye.” he offered, apparently to the map more than her. He set his finger pointedly when he found the place. “This’ll be where you’re headed, love. Bloody cold.” he muttered as if he had been there and didn’t enjoy it. “Now this Conclave, it’s something big the Divine arranged. Some last ditch effort to get the mages and Templars to play all nice like with each other. No doubt there’s some freelancers in there eager to get dirty. Perfect opportunity if you play it right.” 

 

Aenor’s head shot up at the word ‘mage’. She’d been mostly filled in by this point. Templars had a reputation, not just for being controlling pricks, but for having the ability to disrupt magic entirely. Among that were stories involved with unchecked abuse and even murder, rape, and much of the same things she was warned about in regards to being an elf. She relied more on her own skill than on her weapons, but the idea that it  _ could _ happen that she was caught had crossed her mind. 

 

“Assuming there will also be people who  _ aren’t _ supposed to be there. Myself included. What else can I expect?” she asked. 

 

“Oh, certainly. This is the biggest thing to happen in a while. Lot of Marchers that aren’t ours, I hear.” he sighed. 

 

“Thank you for this, Mr. Frye. If you’d point me in the quickest direction, I’ll be out of your hair.” she said, bobbing her head. 

 

“Ain’t that simple, love. I’m supposed to lead you there personally. I’ve no business there, but I won’t be far if you need me.” he said. “And  _ please _ , call me Jacob.”

 

Pointing to a different place on the map, he looked up, their eyes meeting, holding for a moment before he cleared his throat. 

 

“I’ll be here. Remember it, in case you need me.” he murmured. “Don’t expect you will, but it won’t hurt to know it.” 

 

Judging by how long it took to cross the sea, using it as a means to scale the distance...at a guess, maybe a few days on foot. Faster by carriage, but that wasn’t the wisest option for going unnoticed. Lot of sleeping outside, not that she cared, wouldn’t be the first time she had to. Accounting for inability to get close right away, she added about three days to her calculations, and that was entirely too generous in her experience. Her stomach betrayed her, growling viciously. Edward had been generous with the rations, sure, warning her to fill up because it would be the last decent meal she’d have until she returned. In her concentration, she hadn’t eaten in a little over a day, however, and it was catching up to her. 

 

“My apologies. Please ignore it, I’m ready to leave when you are.” she sighed. 

 

Jacob smiled, pushing his hat back to scratch fix his hair before replacing it. He could tell she was a bit stubborn already, handing her the map, he stretched, drawing it out. “Just need a bite to eat. We can leave after.” he batted his eyelashes, playing at innocence. “Don’t suppose you’d like to join me?”

 

Aenor knew what he was playing at. She was no fool, part of her mildly irritated at the delay, but another part of her found it kind of nice that he cared enough to try and trick her into it in the first place. Instead of waiting for an answer, he instead offered his arm to her. Looping her arm in his, he led the way to the dining hall. Was he actually an assassin? Seemed more like a well-dressed gentlemen, or some kind of tolerable noble than a trained killer. In the course of several more days, she was certain she’d figure it out by then.


	9. Chapter 9

The sun had long fallen, all strangely peaceful. Well, mostly, there were still small gatherings of people spread out, apprehension and a sense of hopelessness about the Conclave’s efficacy. Aenor put it out of her mind, stopping to browse the wares for sale, waiting on Jacob to return from trying to secure a place to stay  _ inside _ for the first time since they left. Not that she had complained about sleeping on the ground, but he didn’t particularly fancy sleeping out in the cold. 

 

_ ‘There’r  _ _ bears _ _ out here.  _ _ BEARS. _ _ Can’t get a proper rest keepin’ one eye open.” he insisted.  _

 

It had the feeling that he wasn’t genuinely concerned about bears, but more about the idea of having an actual bed to use. The cold seeping through her robes spurred her to buy a fair bit of warm hides to line her gloves and cape with, at the very least. A book inlaid with fine gold patterns caught her attention, picking it up to look over. Flipping through, she silently read a few passages, jumping when Jacob leaned over her shoulder. He was quite lucky she had better control, or he might have found an elbow in his face, she didn’t take well to being startled. 

 

“Gathered you were fond of books, but I admit it’s a bit of a surprise. Bit dirty, isn’t it?” he teased. 

 

Thankful her hood was up, she slammed the book shut, setting it back on the counter, whirling around. The blush rising in her cheeks was not something she wanted him to see. He was absent again for a few moments, before he reappeared at her side, pointing to a small home. 

 

“Owners took ill, they’re away. We have run of the house for the night.” he told her. 

 

Just inside, it was much warmer, a fire crackling pleasantly. Freshly lit, from the look of it. He had probably thought to start it before he sought her out, and she wasn’t about to complain. Aenor took a seat in front of it with a sigh. Laying out the hides, she busied herself removing bits of her attire, trying to judge what she had enough to cover. Engrossed in her work, she barely noticed the bottle crossing her shoulder, absently accepting it. He took a seat a bit away from her, barely visible in the corner of her vision. Replacing the pieces as they were completed, the difference was noticeable, far warmer than they had been. Finally looking over to him, he was down his boots and all but a white undershirt and trousers. Wasted no time, that one, mildly glad now that she had grown around men. Trying to picture a different life where she had grown normally, the sight might have bothered her, but as it was, it didn’t. He seemed not to notice her looking, half gone in a book he was reading, on closer inspection, it was the very same one she had skimmed.

 

“Bit dirty, isn’t it?” she asked, repeating his prior words. 

 

“Quite.” he chuckled. 

 

He turned slowly through a few more pages before he closed it, holding it out in offering. Aenor stared at it in confusion, uncertain what he intended for her to do with it. When she didn’t take it, he reached for her hand, pressing it towards her. 

 

“This is…?” she mumbled. 

 

“A  _ book _ .” he reminded her. Seeing her lack of enthusiasm over such a sarcastic reply, he clarified. “I thought you might like a chance to finish it. Call it a gift.” 

 

“What’s the occasion?” It was a very rare thing indeed that someone gave her something. Rarer still something with any sense of permanence. Fidgeting with her necklace, she stared down at the cover. “I should thank you.” 

 

“Whatever you like. ‘Welcome to Ferelden’, ‘nice to meet you’. Take it as an invitation, if you like, however you want to look at it.” he said with a shrug. 

 

She had a fair guess what he meant by that, considering the nature of the book itself. Compelled to question it further though, he stopped her before she had the chance to inquire. 

 

“Not that I’d refuse,  _ that _ isn’t quite what I meant. I don’t like to keep things ‘all-business’, if you couldn’t already tell. Thought maybe when you were done, you might let me show you around. Not all bad here, and I think you’d like the company, love.” he said. 

 

“So...a...date, then?” she asked, still confused. 

 

“If you like.” he said. Realization washed over him, an incredulous expression in place of the one he wore moments before. “You’ve never been on a date.” 

 

Now that it was said so bluntly, Aenor searched her mind for something to the contrary. Edward had...well, no, not unless sitting on the docks to talk between their work counted as a date. That was just a common occurrence, honestly. But there was...no, that wasn’t right either, aside from him, there hadn’t really been anyone else. 

 

“Then it’s no longer just an offer, I must  _ insist. _ ” he said, his smile warm. “ _ After _ you finish, of course.” 

 

Insisting or not, he wasn’t particularly forceful about it. If it crossed her mind to do so, she could have simply told him to shove it sideways, but that would be suggesting she wasn’t at least a little curious about it. 

 

“Vin. I will go.” she told him. 

 

Granted, there was no guarantee when she’d be done, only that tomorrow, she’d reach her destination. Thinking about it more, she couldn’t help but notice his accent was different from those of the Marches, and she admitted internally that she almost wished he’d talk a little more. Some people, their voice grated on her ears, and it was hard not to want to deafen herself, but his was nice. The only other that had fascinated her so was the brief time she spent in Starkhaven, like music to her ears. 

 

“Lost you, have I?” he laughed, waving a hand in front of her face. 

 

“Ir abelas. Were you talking to me? I...my thoughts wandered for a moment.” she admitted. 

 

“Where to?” he probed curiously. 

 

“Here, for a bit, then to Starkhaven.” there was no reason to lie. 

 

“Have a fondness for Prince Vael, do you?” he asked. 

 

“Who?” She hadn’t actually met the prince, and prior to this point, did not know his name. Hadn’t been relevant at the time “Not presently.”

 

Jacob nodded his head towards a small shelf of books, gesturing to a thicker volume. “Guessing you’ve never read the ‘Tale of the Champion’? It has an entire section on him, becoming prince and everything.”

 

“Is that a Tethras? I’ve not read that one, but I’m fond of Hard in Hightown.” she mumbled. “A friend of mine had a few volumes.” 

 

Jacob raised an eyebrow at that. “Just a friend? Not more?” 

 

“Yes. I don’t have many of those. Certainly not more.” she said honestly. 

 

She could have mentioned Edward, but there had never been any real discussion on the matter. Aenor never pushed the subject, and he hadn’t brought it up either. While things had been quite  _ physical _ , he was gone more and more in recent years, and of course, she was busy as well. 

 

“Not the answer I thought I’d get, but it’s a lucky one.” he mumbled, almost too quietly to hear. 

 

“Wouldn’t say that just yet. It’s only been a few days, you might change your mind about that.” she said dryly, accenting it with a slight raise of her shoulders. Rising to stand, she headed for one of the beds, falling in lazily. “I’m going to turn in, have to get an early start if I want to get there before evening.”

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

9:41 Dragon - 1 Week after the Conclave

 

_ Herald of Andraste _ . What was she supposed to do with that? They’d come to the Hinterlands with the goal of seeking out a chantry mother, and they’d done that. Had to kill a number of both Templars and mages, unable to be pacified. Back once more, this time to have a better look around, they turned in to the camp, still up well after the others had went to bed. She’d have already made her way back if not for the fact that she  _ couldn’t _ . Well, she probably could, assuming she didn’t mind letting everyone, herself included die. The Breach was stable, but still a threat. Until it was closed, returning wasn’t an actual option. What she needed was to send a letter, let them know what the delay was. Aenor stared up at the drab canvas of her tent, draping a leg across her lap to knead her ankles. Hearing a sound, she moved to sit up, hidden blade extending quickly. She saw a shadow cast outside her tent for just a moment before it was opening, prepared to strike until she saw the robes. He looked up, broad grin on his partially obscured face, pressing a finger to his lips. 

 

She didn’t need to see his full face to know just who it was. Solas had already left to sleep elsewhere for the night, and Cassandra and Varric were rather heavy sleepers, no need to speak in whispers at least. 

 

“Jacob, what are you doing here?” she asked. 

 

“You never came back.” he said with a shrug. Pointing up, she knew he meant that the Breach had concerned him somehow, likely he had heard about the explosion at the Conclave and took the chance that the lone survivor was her. “I thought to seek you out.” 

 

It dawned on her that she could have him get the letter out for her, pulling the blade back when it occurred to her to that it was still out. “You know, I’m glad you’re here, I need a favor.” 

 

“Dare I hope it’s something fun?” he joked. 

 

“If you help me out, it could be.” she said, her tone playful. “I need you to send a letter back to the Marches. Explain the situation to them, I can’t leave until this is done and over with, I could be here a while.” 

 

Instead of being reluctant, as she figured he might, Jacob moved to sit next to her, tugging her hood down to look at her properly. “Well, think of it this way, love. I’m not far away, if you need a little excitement...or...perhaps a break from it, I’ll be around.”

 

“Yes, but don’t you have other business?” she questioned skeptically.

 

“My mission isn’t done yet. I’m supposed to stick around until you’re ready to leave, and see you back to the Coast. Whether you’re here a month of a year, you’re stuck with me.” he shrugged. Putting on an exagerrated voice, he added. “I know what you’re thinking: ‘Oh, Jacob this is the most fantastic thing that’s ever happened to me, you’re so cool.’ I know, love. I get it. I’ll have to make this ‘Herald’ business more entertaining for you.” 

 

“And if that  _ wasn’t _ what I was thinking?” she asked. “Then what?” 

 

Without missing a beat, he leaned in, words ghosting against her ear. “Then what would it take to convince you?” 

 

Truthfully, sleep was the furthest thing from her mind, and there were several hours until the sun rose and the others woke up. Nudging his shoulder lightly, she smiled. “I’ve got a few hours to kill. I recall you  _ insisted _ on a date, show a girl a good time.” 

 

Jacob crawled back out, waiting for her, hand outstretched to help her to her feet. She didn’t know every corner of the map yet, but the path was fairly familiar, heading for the Crossroads, it seemed, not more than a few minutes down the road. Once there, he led her to a place she couldn’t claim to know, loud, cheerful voices audible outside even though most were sleeping. They found a seat, an overwhelmed looking woman quickly bringing drinks. If they were attempting to blend in, they weren’t. The moment Jacob was seated, the rest of the patrons came to greet him, one even inquiring as to who she was. He was usually so composed, and very smooth, she’d say, but asked to introduce her, he stammered, slipped up, eventually muttering ‘This is my Nori.’ It made her laugh, already pleased with the evening for giving her something to torture him with. For a time, he fell silent, focusing on his drink, eyes searching the air for anything to talk about. 

 

“How is it there?” he wondered finally. 

 

“It’s fine. Cold and snowy, but mostly fine. Made an ass out of myself already. Tried to attack my Commander. Turns out he’s ‘ex-Templar’, and wants nothing to do with it anymore. So needless to say, I think I’ve just  _ barely _ gotten him to forgive me. Solas is interesting, I rarely get a chance to talk to other elves, and he has a lot to teach. Oh! Varric Tethras, I met him!” she rambled. 

 

“Commander, well, that sounds awfully fancy. What’s he like?” he asked

 

Shrugging, she downed her drink to keep up with him, another round arriving soon after. “I’m not very sure. Doesn’t wear the armor, so I mean I like that. The soldiers seem to like him, tough but fair kind from a far. Up close though, I think he’s a bit shy. I’m not certain I understand why, it’s like two different people.” 

 

“Sounds like a real exciting guy.” he said sarcastically. 

 

“Well, this is more exciting. Never been in a tavern before. There’s one in Haven, but I’ve not had the chance to go.” she said. 

 

He tilted his glass towards her slightly, a hint of surprise in his voice at that. “Really? You should let me take you earlier in the day then, singing, dancing, the occasional brawl. Good times you’re missin’ out on. Of course, I have plenty more to show you. You won’t be disappointed, love.” 

 

It was around the fourth round that she finally tapped out. Not quite drunk, but close enough considering she still had to get back to the camp soon enough. He signalled the bartender not to bring anymore, and she nodded. 

 

“You could keep going, I just... _ shouldn’t _ .” she mumbled, idly flicking one of her braids back and forth. 

 

“Oh?  _ Troublemaker. _ ” he teased. “I bet you pick fights, right?” 

 

Shaking her head, her face flushing, not sure whether it was simply the alcohol or something else. “No, it’s nothing like that.” 

 

Intrigued, he tried to think of what else might cause her to hesitate. If not fighting, what else could it be? “Ooh, I got it. You’re the brutally honest type!” 

 

“Hm? No. I’m pretty quiet, I think.” she said, fidgeting with her glass.

 

Finishing his drink, he left a pile of coins on the table, coming around to help if she needed it. She didn’t, not really, following his lead without complaint. Trying to think of something she’d like that wouldn’t be too much at the moment. He knew just the place. Stepping behind her, he covered her eyes, really wanting to surprise her this time. On the way, he took another guess.

 

“You get lost, and end up stuck in the middle of nowhere?” he guessed. 

 

“I’m usually pretty lucky at finding my way, even drunk.” she said.

 

Stopping, he moved his hands away, stretching out on the grass. Gesturing for her to join him, she kept her eyes on him, looking up when he pointed. The stars were out, the dark sky a speckled canvas that drew her attention completely. Now that she really thought about it, she didn’t think she’d ever taken the time to look up like this. She wondered why that was, why it never occurred to her that something this beautiful was just above her. 

 

“Did well, did I?” he asked, a pleased smile on his face. 

 

“ _ Very well. _ I think I’ll remember this until I die.” she murmured. 

 

Jacob leaned over, hovering just above her, blocking her view. “Then give me a hint. Tell me what happens?” 

 

Honestly, she thought the topic was over, given that he stopped guessing for a while. Sighing, she looked up at him, tipping her head slightly. “Are you really  _ that _ curious. It’s a boring story.” 

 

“I’d like to know. It’s not often I find myself quite this curious.” he admitted. 

 

Aenor reached up, her arms hooking around his neck, drawing him down. She kissed him, catching him off guard by the way his eyes widened in surprise. She broke the kiss after only a moment, shrugging a single shoulder. “At that time, I was refused.” 

 

Jacob shook his head once, dipping back down for another, teeth scraping against her lower lip, leaning. He swept his fingers across her jaw, up her cheek, following the scar, the feel of the stiff leather giving her goosebumps. Pulling away slowly, he chuckled at the look on her face. 

 

“That’s all? Somehow, I expected much worse.” he said, trailing light kisses along one cheek, across her nose and over the other, following the path of her freckles. “You do have to get back soon, or I might be sorely tempted to continue.” 

 

Laughing, she agreed. “If I didn’t think Cassandra would assume I tried to run and might toss me in the brig, I might stay longer.” 

 

“So, what’s next for the Herald of Andraste? How do they presume to help you save the world?” he asked, amused by the thought. 

 

“Apparently, I’m to go to  _ Val Royeaux. _ I’m  _ expected _ to present myself before a gaggle of old chantry mothers. If they think I care…” she grumbled, her voice raising briefly. “ _ As’an ela ava alas. _ ”

 

He didn’t request clarification, it was obvious in the way she said it, that spike of irritation, that it was something along the lines of a threat or a complete disregard for them. “Orlais...are you taking off right away?” 

 

“No, I will likely have a day or two before preparations are made. The Inquisition is still quite small, for the moment, things take a bit longer to arrange.” she told him. 

 

“Good to know…” he murmured. “Let me help you back. Don’t want to have to sneak in to break you out.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As'an ela ava alas - they can eat dirt.


	11. An Orlesian Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orlais is just as stuck up as Aenor recalls. Still, the presence of a friendly, if calculating face proves quite useful.

Val Royeaux was lovely. The people? Still not so much. Centre of the Grand Game, she had learned quickly to rely only on herself. Everyone else was surely out for their own benefit, and even outright murder was hardly considered a faux pas. On her last trip here, she recalled witnessing a stabbing through a window, right in front of a guest, who complimented his act. When he left the room, she could faintly hear that the only real criticism was being sloppy about it. Val Royeaux, city of decadent excess, entitlement and arrogance. As much as it bothered her to approve of anything anyone who chose the mantle of ‘Templar’ would do, she had to applaud inwardly as the mothers were quickly silenced. Cassandra called the man Lord Seeker Lucius, and he was an ass. A fact she’d have happily pointed out if they hadn’t skittered off so quickly. She’d never once considered them a viable option, but something about how strongly she insisted something wasn’t right had her mildly curious. 

 

If something in the Lord Seeker had changed so drastically, looking into them might afford her an opportunity to wipe them out or otherwise hobble them. Yes, that was an option. Incapacitate the Templars, then grab the mages.For the moment, it was a decent plan, one she was liking more and more. Aenor was willing to admit Cullen was different, kinder. That didn’t apply to anyone else. One wild goose chase later, she had a lead into a matter that involved very nearly being shot, right out in the open. She’d look into it later, in the meantime, there was a man staring her way as though waiting for her. He said little, simply passing her a gold foil invitation to some fancy gathering after confirming she was the Herald. 

 

Staring down at it in mild disbelief, she grumbled inwardly about  _ actually _ having to attend a party after all. No way she was going to hunt for a dress, they’d take her in her robes and bare feet or they’d not see her at all. A sharp whistle called her attention up high. She couldn’t say who it was, but clearly someone else was watching her. Why not. Wasn’t like she was getting enough attention already, what could go wrong?

 

“Please excuse me, I will return briefly.” she instructed the others. 

 

Without waiting for an answer, she scaled the wall to the upper level, uncaring of those who might see. Someone got away with firing an arrow at her in broad daylight, no one cared. Tossing her leg over the balcony railing, she heard the whistle once more. Not given the chance to seek out the source, a voice called to her seemingly from just out of view. 

 

“ _ Plaisir de vous revoir, mademoiselle.”  _ he said, stepping out from the shadows. 

 

Her Orlesian language lessons felt so long again, and it was fuzzy in her mind, hard to recall. Finally, it connected in her mind, and she offered a formal bow. “Je ne suis pas surpris de vous voir ici, Arno.” 

 

Realizing her struggle, he offered a quick apology before switching to the common tongue. “How long has it been? It feels like years and yesterday at the same time.” 

 

Much like with Jacob, Arno was the same age as she was, unlike him, they had a few occasions to meet over the years. “Two years, give or take a month or two, since last we met.” 

 

He glanced over the balcony to her companions, gesturing to them. “What strange company you keep these days.” he looked over the invitation, her hands suddenly checking her person, wondering just when he lifted it. “Caught the attention of some powerful people as well. I trust you have no objections if I were to accompany you?” 

 

“What reason could you possibly have for going to a stuffy affair such as this?” she laughed, barely wanting to go as it was. 

  
  


“Ai-je besoin d'une raison pour vouloir une belle femme sur mon bras?” he questioned, knowing it would take her a bit to pick up on it. 

 

“As flattering as that may be, there’s more to it.” she sighed. 

 

“I admit there is. I have need to look into a matter in Duke Bastien’s estate, where this salon is being held. That, and I don’t think you understand fully. Madame de Fer’s reputation is something of a legend here. You are clever, have always been so. Vivienne is a master manipulator, a worthy ally if you can keep her from getting into your head. If you would allow me the pleasure of attending at your side, I would be happy to lead the situation to your benefit, and...when the opportunity arises, I get what I need as well. Mutually beneficial, non?” he explained. 

 

In truth, if the woman was as good as he claimed at dominating a situation, it would be worth it. Then again, she still found the idea of such a gathering distasteful, though it would provide her an opportunity to test the results of her training. 

 

“Very well.” she said, bowing again. “Monsieur Dorian, would you do me the honor of attending with me?” 

 

His shoulders shook with his laugh, shaking his head slowly. “It would be my pleasure. I feel it my duty to point out, a lady should never ask. It should be the man’s responsibility to ask.” 

 

Arno looked her over for briefly, reaching out with both hands, the barest of touches grazing her waist. His glance shifted from there to her chest and down to her hips before making a sound in the back of his throat. “Surely you know these will not do us any favors. Meet me here tonight, and you,  _ ma belle,  _ will be sure to impress.” 

 

He was definitely up to something. Although Cassandra’s impatient grunt was audible even from up here. She bobbed her head apologetically, excusing herself before she leapt over the edge, climbing down as quickly as she could manage. 

 

“I trust you’re done with your business?” she huffed. 

 

Somehow, the way she said it made her feel a faint twinge of guilt. Like somehow she had been doing something illicit. Being fair, she probably was, she couldn’t very well tell. This was normal for her. But the strict almost scolding tone she took with her made her feel like being caught in the middle of ‘vigorous activities’. 

 

“I am. I’d like to attend this party tonight. Meet Madame de Fer. For the moment, let’s follow these clues and look into the arrow. If you’d prefer to stay here and wait, that would be fine as well.” she told her. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plaisir de vous revoir, mademoiselle - Pleasure to see you again, miss.   
> Je ne suis pas surpris de vous voir ici, Arno. - I'm not surprised to see you here, Arno.  
> Ai-je besoin d'une raison pour vouloir une belle femme sur mon bras? - Do I need a reason to want a beautiful woman on my arm?  
> ma belle - my beautiful


	12. The Duke's Estate

Aenor showed up to the meeting place a few minutes early, just in case. She kept her attention around her sharp, didn’t trust this city in the least. No one with even the slightest capacity for thought  _ would. _ A door behind her opened, and she stepped cautiously to the side, hand on the blade at her hip. Seeing Arno peeking out, she let go, stepping closer when he waved her inside. Closing the door behind her, he nodded towards a box on a fine wooden table. Looking him over, his robes were absent, dressed in a stuffy black suit, the vaguest suggestion of stockings visible at his ankles. He reached to the table, putting on a silver mask that covered half his face. She hated those masks, made it a challenge to rely on facial movements for information. That was probably why people wore them. She stared at the box suspiciously, knowing what must surely be in it. 

 

“Quickly, ma belle. The faster you disrobe, the faster we can leave.” he urged. 

 

Aenor supposed a lady might protest stripping down in the company of a man, but for her, it was hardly uncomfortable. There were so few female assassins it often came down to relying on men at times. As though it were a simple exercise, she tried to undress as quickly as possible, though she bent to retrieve her robes, folding them carefully and setting them on the table. Arno gestured for her to turn her back to him, and she turned, inwardly grumbling about what was about to happen. He offered an apology for his reach, arms coming around her waist, carefully bending her forward to support herself. 

 

“This will hurt, I am sorry once more.” he mumbled. 

 

Aenor exhaled slowly, gasping when he pulled the laces back tightly. In retrospect, Reid was being far kinder by not lacing it so strictly. Her head dropped, willing herself to think of anything besides the ache in her ribs and the tight confinement of her lungs. This had better be worth it, for all the trouble it was. Thankfully, it looked like he had chosen a far simpler dress, unusual in Orlais, land of a thousand petticoats and hips made so wide from fabric it was hard to fit through doors, as she had observed. Guiding her to face him, he reached in the box for the stockings. She didn’t like clothes that made it hard to move, but she had to concede he had fine taste after all. 

 

“ _ Fenhedis!”  _ she hissed through her teeth.

 

“Hold my shoulders, if you would.” he instructed, knowing movement would be harder for her. 

 

Taking his words, she braced herself against him, lifting her right leg first. He was gentle about it, pulling them up carefully, waiting for her to lower it and raise the other so he could help. They were made of a thicker material than she expected, black, with mossy colored patterns, each outlined further in thin gold accents. He kept her steady, helping with her boots next, made of a fine brown leather, with a low heel that seemed far easier to walk in than those she had to wear in practice. Patting her hands, she let go, watching with mild interest as he worked quickly to unfasten the collar of the dress he had chosen, pulling it down over her head, sleeveless, thankfully. Adjusting the stiff collar around her neck, he snapped it in place, reaching around her once more to secure a rich brown sash around her waist. 

 

“One last step. I promise, the pain will be worth it, I will see we both get what we need tonight.” he assured her. 

 

Not yet ready to chance wasting her breath on words, she gave a slight nod. Carefully working around her gauntlet, he adjusted her gloves, black like the stockings. The mossy color was found on these too, perfectly fitting around her blade. He  _ had _ thought this through, in case something happened, it was no good to be unarmed. Perhaps he hadn’t heard yet, but she was never particularly without, now that her magic was better managed. He fixed a golden mask over her face, the rosy color of her lips popping well against the colors he had chosen. Arno made a few last adjustments before offering his arm. It was hardly fair that Orlesian men had less to their outfits, and for just a moment, she found herself a bit jealous. 

 

Cassandra, Solas and Varric were waiting by the door, the responses mixed. Cassandra’s eyes narrowed to slits as she noticed the man escorting her. 

 

“Who is this?” she questioned. 

 

As he had indicated he would, he spoke up. Bowing politely, he smiled, and once again she remembered why he got away with so much. That smile could probably get him out of execution. 

 

“Forgive me, my lady. I am Arno Dorian. Incidentally, I received an invitation as well, and when I saw mon ami, I couldn’t help but to escort her.” he said, a certain innocence to his words. 

 

“So I see. I was not aware you knew anyone in Orlais.” she said. 

 

“Let’s hope Madame Vivienne likes her ‘gift’.” Varric joked, noticing the way she appeared to be wrapped into her dress. “Hate to see what happens if she doesn’t.” 

 

Solas folded his arms behind his back, appraising her briefly. “ _ I  _ think it suits her well.” 

 

Despite the compliment, it did nothing to improve her outlook on having to dress up in the first place. Arno leaned in enough to speak privately to her as the group walked in. “Ma belle, you put the moon to shame. I would not be surprised if you become the center of attention.” 

 

“This is not my salon, I do not think it is considered good manners to show up the hostess.” she said, stifling a giggle.

 

“Surely, it cannot be helped.” he sighed. 

 

Just inside, she heard a voice announcing their presence. “Lady Kennedy of Ostwick, accompanied by agents of the Inquisition, and Lord Dorian, of Val Royeaux.” 

 

She kept her words to a whisper, a hint of concern buried carefully. “How did they know this?” 

 

“Relax, it is their job to know that much. They do not know  _ what _ we are. It will be fine.” he assured her. 

 

A pair a little further in were the first to greet her. They inquired about who invited her, and asking with no small measure of fascination at the stories that had caught their ears. She looked to Arno, gauging whether he intended to answer for her, still adjusting to taking smaller breaths to engage in a proper conversation. 

 

“I assure you, the tales you have heard pale in comparison to the truth. The lady is a wonder to behold.” he said, as easily as if it were indeed the truth. 

 

“The Inquisition should attend more of these parties!” she cooed. 

 

_ Din’ah shem’el…  _ she thought irritably at the idea of having to do this more often. 

 

Arno felt her tension, offering a gentle squeeze to her arm. She’d have taken a deep breath, if she could. Moving to lead her away, a man’s voice interrupted. He silently cursed as he attempted to confront her on the farcical nature of the Inquisition. Knowing he had left her armed had him a little concerned suddenly. To be criticized so openly like this, it had to be difficult to hear, regardless of how much or how little she valued the Inquisition. She didn’t seem impressed, offering only the blankest of expressions for him. 

 

“I assure you, the cause is a worthy one, the lady need not answer to you.” he told him. 

 

Undeterred, he continued to demean her, reaching for the sword strapped to his back. This wasn’t looking good. He was no challenge, little enough trouble to take care of, but this was neither the time nor place for it. Before he could draw his weapon, a layer of ice subdued him, freezing him in place as Madame de Fer descended the stairs. 

 

“My dear Marquis, how unkind of you to use such language in  _ my  _ house, to  _ my  _ guests.” she said calmly “You know such rudeness is...intolerable.” 

 

Moving elegantly, she stopped in between them. Her back was to them at the moment, facing the Marquis. 

 

“Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon…” he managed. 

 

“You should.” she replied. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” 

 

He said nothing more, and she turned to face her finally. “My lady, you’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?” 

 

The first thought that entered her mind was to ask her to kill him. Why not see just how far she was willing to go? Arno casually slid his hand to her palm, tracing out the word ‘no’ as if he read her mind somehow. So this was what he warned her about, this was little more than a power play, regardless whether the choice was left to her or not. Meeting her eyes, she smiled rather simply. 

 

“He has not troubled me. Will not trouble me further, I believe you can let him go.” she instructed. 

 

At that, Vivienne thawed him out, reminding him on his way out to be grateful for your mercy. He coughed and sputtered, steps slow as he made his exit. Subtly, Arno gave her a nod of approval. 

 

“I’m delighted you could attend this little gathering, I’ve  _ so _ wanted to meet you.” she said pleasantly.

 

She walked away slowly and Arno signalled her to follow, pausing to whisper in her ear. “Try to keep her busy, I’m going to take this chance to get what I came for. I will be back in time to see you off, I swear.” 

 

Aenor let go of his hand, wandering off to follow the Enchantress, silently wishing him luck with a glance. She came to a stop by the window, and she took it as her cue to stop as well, facing her once more. She properly introduced herself, and as courtesy dictated, she expressed her pleasure for the invitation. Vivienne wasted no time getting to the point, relaying that the death of the Divine had left the Chantry in shambles, and it was her hope that the Inquisition might bring order. 

 

_ “The Chantry has no authority over us. _ ” a voice from long ago echoed in her mind. 

 

“Seek allies wherever you can. You are the most capable to do this.” Cullen’s reminder came right after. 

 

Keeping her distracted wouldn’t be hard if she played the situation to her advantage. She had learned deception, being agreeable should be a simple task. 

 

“Of course. It is a shame to see what has befallen the Chantry in the wake of the Divine’s death. I should very much like to see it restored to power, and it will be a point of focus for the Inquisition in the coming days. If perhaps you might be inclined to assist, I am absolutely certain that the matter would go smoothly.” she spoke persuasively. 

 

“Naturally, my dear. It is only right that I should lend my assistance to your cause.” she replied. 

 

Bowing as much as she could manage, she righted herself after a moment. “The Inquisition would be happy to have you, Lady Vivienne.” 

“Great things are beginning, my dear. I can promise you that.” she said. “I shall set out for Haven after this affair has ended.” Aenor kept her focus on the Enchantress, though just down the corridor, Arno gave a discreet sign that he had obtained what he needed and would meet her shortly. “Shall we return to the drawing room?” 

 

“I would enjoy that. This is a fine party, Madame.” she said. 

 

They parted ways at the bottom of the stairs, and she caught up with Arno once again. His words were quiet, keeping the focus off himself as much as possible. “I found more than what I expected. There was so much information...I doubt I can tell you about it just yet, but I will make inquiries back at the Chȃteau.” 

 

“Is it really that useful?” she whispered. 

 

“Let me put it this way, ma belle. It is to  _ your _ benefit as well. Given that I see the negotiations with Madame de Fer went so well, it may be to great benefit to offer an alliance to your Inquisition as well, if only so it will be easier to work together, and communicate from the same place. I could also act as an intermediary for you and your home base. That man said the Inquisition has an army, yes? Imagine what could be accomplished with an army supplemented with trained assassins…” he explained softly. 

 

“I’m certainly liking the sound of that. Let us hope then that this goes favorably.” she agreed. 

 

The guests slowly began to file out, their cue that the festivities had finally reached an end for the night. Arno, waved her to follow so they could get the rest of their effects back. Once redressed, he smiled, offering the box to her. 

 

“I’ve no doubt that there may come a time when you will have need of this again. Keep it.” he said. 

 

Aside from the corset, the dress itself was lovely, and she had taken a liking to it. He had a wonderful eye for it, apparently. Reaching for her hand, he brushed a kiss to her knuckles, offering a wave before he snuck out the back way. Carrying the box out, she let out an exhausted sigh, rejoining the group. If luck was yet with her, she’d have at least a day to recover before they planned the next move. Based on the conversation, it would likely be making a decision on who to side with, the mages or the Templars. She still maintained that looking into the Templars was worthwhile, if only to weaken them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given the nature of the crossover, I thought it best to stick with Templars as the bad guys. Cullen is the exception because he left, and he's such a nice guy. Sabotage is a part of business as usual, so expect unexpected targets later on.
> 
> Also, since there are so few female assassins, even considering that I have added at least one original one aside from Aenor...I figure it would make sense for her not to be concerned about things like undressing around men.
> 
> I may do some mildly plotty smut here in the next chapter, not sure yet.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is very slightly plotty smut, basically.

9:41 Dragon, two weeks after Val Royeaux. 

 

Things had only become hectic since the trip to Orlais. She’d been almost immediately dispatched to the Storm Coast to have a look at a mercenary band for hire. It surprised her to see the leader, she’d not had a chance to see a Qunari before, and his towering presence was...startling, to say the least. Not frightening, certainly he’d go down if it came to that. Aenor’d sent them back to Haven, and swore she didn’t want to hear even a single complaint considering how much it had been impressed that they  _ needed _ more. Thinking there would be a bit to breathe when she returned, it was not to be so. Leliana had sent her off to seek out a Warden in the Hinterlands, and she’d found him quickly enough for one who appeared not to be drawing too much notice to himself. From there, it had been a trip to Redcliffe to meet with the mages, at least  _ assess _ the situation. 

 

That was unexpected. Magic of a kind she had never experienced was at work there, and the presence of a Tevinter magister had left a sour note on the trip. Clearly, he thought himself better than her, barely restrained in his roundabout mockery of her. He thought her little more than a child with no knowledge of the happenings of the world. Too smug for her taste. Still, if she could get him out of the picture, the mages would assuredly be an asset. Aenor had to laugh a bit to herself when she met someone willing to sell him out. His own former student, Dorian. It wasn’t simply the name that conjured images of her Orlesian friend, but the manner in which he spoke and acted. Different countries, yet they were strangely similar despite. Unfortunately, it had come to her attention that she could only ally herself with  _ either _ the Templars  _ or _ the mages. That was a decision she was unwilling to make without some additional suggestions, there was yet a possibility of yielding a weakness at the cost of personal safety, and the safety of her fellow assassins. If it played the way it had in her mind, it would be beneficial, but still, that left the problem of consigning the mages to a life of slavery at the hands of Tevinter. There were  _ children _ among their numbers, children who would be left at the mercy of whatever fate was decided for them. 

 

Aenor still had reached no conclusion when she made her return to Haven. Desperate for privacy, a place to herself to think it through, she sought out the abandoned home at the edge of the village. The cold nipped at her skin, left exposed by the Qunari clothing she’d been left with. It served as a means to blend better, and a means to enjoy the much more pleasant cool air away from the snow. Now, it was just reminding her that it was far too cold for it. The softly braided ropes surrounding her neck, shoulders, arms and waist was a good feeling, the trousers loose, made of an almost pillowy material. The band keeping her chest covered was silkier, and she’d quickly found that had the weather cooperated more, she’d very much enjoy wearing it more often. Kneeling to the fireplace, she eased her hands out, thankful at least for not having to struggle with it. Magic was an unexpected blessing at times. The wood popped and crackled, warmth slowly radiating through the small house. She heard a thump against the floorboards, near the window, the corner of her mouth raising slightly. 

 

“Jacob.” she said by way of greeting. “Thought I’d seen you shadowing me.” 

 

“Can’t imagine  _ what _ you mean. I did no such thing.” he was quick to deny. Coming to rest next to her, he shed his coat and hat, holding his hands out to the growing fire. “Suspected I’d be by? That why you wore somethin’ like this?” 

 

There was a carefully masked tone of humor to his words. He’d been keeping an eye on her in the Hinterlands, probably knew the exact moment she’d traded out her robes for it too. Admittedly, it was more exposed than she typically cared to be, like a beacon to her enemies on just where she was most vulnerable. Jacob took a moment to look her over, the slim slope of her shoulders, unmarked in a way that would make statues jealous. Her stomach was etched in the faintest suggestion of muscle, only a blurred nick left at the edge of her hip, suggestively rising up from the colorful pop of cloth. Spoke well of her skill that two scars were the only evidence of past failures, but he’d already been regaled with tales of her exploits, had a small taste of her talents with the scattered bits of resistance left from the clashing forces of rogue Templars and rebel mages. Her hair was down today, freed from braids and buns, falling loosely in a mix of curls and waves, spilled over her shoulders, stray strands lingering against her chest. He took too long, she’d saw him looking this time. 

 

“Do I distract you?” she asked hesitantly. 

 

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t see. I won’t believe it.” he admitted. 

 

There had been an unusual tension between them for some time, teased at with a stray comment or a light touch, but save for a kiss, nothing had come of it yet. Aenor had usually been fairly content to ignore any building need, for the most part. It was a distraction, and mostly, an unwelcome one, but it was difficult to ignore when hazel eyes stared so intently into hers, and the smell of him stole away her attention. He was getting closer, hand reaching to rest on her hip. Slow in his movements, like he was leaving the option there for her to say something. His lips met hers, chaste for a time before he tried to coax her to open up. Her hands fumbled for his, pulling his gloves off slowly, her fingers dancing over his palms curiously. He’d never tell her the feel of her kiss had been on his mind for some time, that was his secret to keep, everyone had them. Jacob shied away from her touch, trailing up over her sides, back along her spine. Leaning closer to him, he took hold of her, falling back with her. 

 

The cold was far from his mind now, heat building between them steadily. A simple kiss was quickly turning to more, hungrier, intense almost. He was content to leave things to her pace, and from the nearly feverish way she tugged his shirt free, working the buttons, it wasn’t enough for her. If she wanted more, she’d get her way, who was he to refuse? He broke the kiss, admiring the swollen, bruising look of her lips on his way to her neck, stubble scraping against her. As appealing as it had been on her, it was maddening trying to figure out how to get her out of the foreign garb, searching for a clasp or a knot, anything that might suggest a way to remove it. Her head fell back, arms twisting behind her, skillfully slipping the edges free from a gold-toned metal piece at her back, the band slipping free from her chest. The ropes eased loose, parting from her long enough to let her untangle them from her arms and neck before returning. He lowered himself against her, rutting against her thigh, cupping her breasts eagerly as he bit along her neck. Her nipples rose to stiff peaks already, offering a soft moan when he circled them slowly. 

 

“Tell me, love...how long has it been since you let someone touch you like this?” he panted softly. 

 

Aenor searched her memories, unable to think of the answer off the top of her head. Two years and some months had been the first time, but the last? He wasn’t making it easier to think, the warmth of his mouth closing in against her nipple, tongue working skillfully over and around it. Sucking in a breath, she closed her eyes tightly, mewling at the attention. 

 

“About a year…” she managed. 

 

Tearing himself away for a moment, he hastily unfastened her trousers, her legs raising just enough for him to pull them off. Purposely ignoring her need, he took his time, kissing and biting his way from her breasts, down her sides and over her stomach, lingering on the delicate ridges of her hips. The way she jumped at his exploration, shook without ever being touched was fascinating to watch. He massaged her calves firmly, sucking bruises along her thighs, lining her in bite marks that left her groaning and her skin flushed with need. He’d guessed at her inclinations for a while now, deciding that she was no fragile little girl, didn’t want to be treated like she’d break. The way she reacted to his rougher treatment left him wondering if that was a need long ignored. Moving away from her, he rolled to his back, lifting his hips to work himself free of his pants, shirt sliding down his shoulders as he did. His clothes pooled under him, reaching to get a firm hold of the crook of her knee, tugging her closer to him. He pulled her leg to rest on the side of his head, trying to move her to him. Aenor resisted for a bit before slipping to place over him, her expression wary. 

 

“What are you doing?” she asked, an edge of tension to her voice. 

 

“You don’t know?” he wondered, a faint hum in his words. “Then relax and let me take care of everything.” 

He gripped her hips, keeping her close, her head dropping back when his tongue pressed against her. It was hardly surprising to find she wasn’t used to this, even for as capable as she was, being put in any kind of power in this situation was probably uncomfortable. He’d give her what she needed, and what she wanted, if only to show her what it was he was offering. Shifting back and forth between her entrance and her clit, her legs trembled, spine crumbling as she arched over him to support herself on her hands, rocking into him. Freeing a hand from her leg, he teased a finger between her folds. He pressed his tongue against her in firm, quick patterns, taking advantage of her distraction to slide two fingers into her. Curved to find her sweet spot, he struck it directly, feeling the way she clenched around him, scissoring his fingers to push her just that last bit over the edge. Jacob would have been more than willing to keep at it until her body refused to move and she was begging him to stop, were it not for the aching reminder he had been ignoring. Carefully moving her off to let her rest for a moment, she rolled onto her back, chest rising and falling in a way that had him fixated on her completely. 

 

“Liked that, did you?” he asked with a quiet chuckle. 

 

“That was...I’ve never…” she trailed off, like the words she was looking for escaped her. “It was…” 

 

Jacob kneaded her mark-ridden legs, the tension melted away in its entirety. Tilting his head to the side, he smirked confidently, admiring her a little longer. “I could show you somethin’ else I’d bet you’ve never seen…” 

 

Aenor had given up trying to form words for the moment, opting instead to extend the invitation with her body, drawing her legs apart slightly, beckoning to him. Certainly, whatever hint of shyness she had begun with had already vanished. He liked this side to her, knew what she wanted and wasn’t ashamed to ask for it, even without words. He didn’t understand it, but at the same time, there was something of a turn on when she spoke her own language. His mind usually tried to piece together what she was saying, and he figured he did well enough. He wanted to bring out the filthy side of her, and if he had his way, he was about to. He widened the space between her legs moving to kneel between them. His pulsing erection prodding her thigh needily. Gripping her ankles, he draped her legs over his shoulders, leaning over her, her body bent in half at the waist. He arched forward to her, splitting her around him slowly. Jacob groaned eagerly as he inched in, stalling when he fit to her completely, savoring the way it felt. Her eyes closed slowly, the gold swallowed away like sunset beneath heavy lids. Testing her responses, he set a steady but forceful rhythm, her body swaying under him with every thrust. She moaned loudly, seemingly unconcerned that they weren’t very far from the village. The angle was perfect for hitting her the way she liked, her body quivering with increasing intensity, already on the verge of another orgasm. Clutching his arms tightly, her nails scratched down urgently, trying to raise herself into him. 

 

“Bloody hell, you’re a feisty one…” he groaned, stealing a quick, fevered kiss from her, enough to let her taste herself on his tongue. “Such a naughty thing, love.” 

 

“Ar isala ra...elvar’el...shem’el...ras diana…” she whimpered, her legs tensed. 

 

There it was, it sounded so sinful in her sultry, silken voice. He didn’t need to know what she was saying to know exactly what she was after. Thrusting against her harder, the wet sound of their bodies colliding echoed in the small house, the strong scent of sweat and sex hanging in the air. She bit her lip, awkwardly raising into him, her walls squeezing him harder. Her head dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, lifting slowly like it weighed too much. Jacob kissed her again, biting and sucking on her lip before delving in. She swallowed his moans like wine, whining softly when he broke it. 

 

“Come on love, let me hear you...tell me what you want…” he growled. 

 

He was holding back, letting his need build almost insufferably. She struggled with it briefly, her breath short, his name slipping free as she fought to steady herself enough to give him what he wanted. 

 

“Ar...isala ma…” she began, licking her lips slowly. Bolder, more sure this time, she started again. “Garun sul em…” 

 

“ _ Fuck Nori…”  _  he gasped, his voice hoarse. 

  
  


Letting go of his restraint, he moved to hold her tightly, nearly slamming against her. He could feel the way his body tensed, pressure building in his stomach, and the rush through his spine, almost piercing through him. He slowed, drawing it out, reaching as deeply inside as he could get when he came. Hot bursts filling her, marking her inside to match the bruising marks left with his mouth and hands. His breath unsteadily rose, panting as the waves slowly washed over him. He reluctantly pulled away from her long enough to let her legs down so she could relax, though he moved back to her to lay against her. Jacob pressed a line of lazy kissed along her throat, nuzzling her lightly before nibbling on her ear lobe, his fingertips ghosting over her sides and across her stomach. Goosebumps rose at the gentle touch, his words vibrating against her ear. He could feel her heart racing, thumping against her chest, though it was beginning to slow.

 

“Why do you call me that?” she mumbled weakly. There was no hint of complaint in the question. 

 

“Don’t like it?” he asked, unwilling to stop his gentle exploration of her, even as his energy had completely abandoned him. “I like having something only  _ I  _ can call you.” 

 

He finally moved away, rummaging through the pile of clothes, passing hers over so she could dress. He got his briefs on, his trousers half up before he decided he needed a bit longer. She lifted her head slightly, watching him. 

 

“That’s a decent reason…” she said, seemingly having lent it some thought. 

 

“I’ve tried hinting, so I’ll be straight.” he said. “I like you. Don’t need an answer right now, just...something to consider. When things are stable.” 

 

Clearly, the statement caught her off guard. She appreciated the time to think it over, and in her mind at least, stability meant solving the mage/Templar dilemma. Without some guidance on the matter, she wasn’t prepared to make a decision. Both sides had fair points, and this was something to take her mind off the weight of such a choice. She felt  _ something _ for him, but the problem was that it wasn’t as simple as telling him she did. To her, there was a lot more to consider, a lot she wasn’t willing to talk about yet. Getting close to anyone was a challenge for her, thanks entirely to the realization that it could so easily be taken away from her, and it required considerable thought to decide every time if it was worth it or not.

 

“I...thank you. For giving me time to think.” she murmured. Dressing slowly, she decided to change the subject. “Have you heard back yet?” 

 

“Hm? Right, the letter.” he sighed. “I have. I couldn’t very well hold onto the response. They say you’re to continue your work from here. They want you to continue to aid the Inquisition in any way they require, that this threat is one that threatens the world, and if you have the means to do somethin’ about it, it is your duty.” 

 

Aenor stared down at the backs of her hands, lost in thought. “Halam’shivanas...ar itha…” 

 

“What’s this then?” he asked, buttoning his shirt slowly. 

 

“I should have guessed that they would insist I do my duty.” she straightened the ropes across her neck and arms again, fastening the band back across her chest. “It means ‘to do your duty to the end. The sweet sacrifice of duty.” 

 

“You come from cheery folk, don’t you?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his words. 

 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t raised among them.” she said with a shrug.

 

“Oh?” he said, his tone saying she didn’t have to tell him if she didn’t feel like it. 

 

“A demon said my name is Evanura Lavellan. I don’t remember ever using it. My clan was destroyed when I was a child, and I was raised instead by a man named Connall Kennedy. He named me. Aside from the words, my only knowledge of the Dalish came from books, and Solas says even that is far removed to the way it was before the fall of Arlathan.” she told him. 

 

“Which of those blokes was this Solas?” he asked. 

 

“The elven man. He’s a mage, like me.” she answered, heaving a small sigh. “Vivienne would say he dresses like he’s homeless. The bald one.” 

 

Jacob had seen him a few times with the small group that normally travelled with her. Liked to talk to her away from the others, wandered off alone when the rest went to bed, though he hadn’t been interested enough to see where he went. He could see there was something weighing on her mind, something distracting her enough to have her staring absently at the floor while she finished dressing. 

 

“Alright love, spill it. What’s the problem?” he asked, reaching to rest his hand on her knee.

 

“This choice I have to make. I’m not liking either option completely. I can think of good reasons for both sides.” she admitted. 

 

“Then tell me, maybe I can help.” he said, turning to lay his head in her lap, pleased when she scraped her fingers through his hair. “Maybe all you need is a different perspective, love.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;3; I had to write this over from memory. I forgot to save my work and it got carried to the abyss.


	14. Chapter 14

Thanks to talking through the details, Aenor made a decision. Leliana and Josephine were currently involved in plotting out the finer points of arranging the meeting. Cullen seemed pleased with her decision, and had been training her personally over the last few days, at her request. It took some arguing, and a bit more raising of her voice than she cared for to convince him to stop holding back because he was afraid to hurt her. Eventually, with great reluctance, he gave in to her wishes. He’d not managed to land a hit on her, but thanks to suffering charges with a heavy shield, her body was covered in bruises. 

 

“I feel I should apologize again…” he mumbled. 

 

“There’s no need. I asked you to help me with this, and you’ve done it. If anything I should be thanking you.” she said. 

 

“‘Thank you for the bruises.’ yes, that sounds reasonable.” he sighed, pressing his fingers to his brow. “Shouldn’t you be resting? I’m told you’ll be leaving in the morning.” 

 

She’d have reconsidered going after the Templars, but Jacob reminded her there were still plenty of assassins in Tevinter, ones that would be willing to keep an eye out for mistreatment, at least of the children. That they’d surely put an end to it, with or without orders to do so. Figuring out how to make the Templars less problematic was the priority now. 

 

“Not just yet. I can’t very well show up a sweaty mess. I’ll hit the showers and maybe get a few drinks before I turn in. Would you care to join me?” she asked. 

 

He was all business, the first awake, the last to bed. Always running drills, checking that everything was just right in between training and paperwork. She’d never even seen him stick his head in the door of the tavern unless it was to fetch one of his men. 

 

“I...don’t think that’s appropriate.” he mumbled, his face flushing. 

 

Realizing what he meant, she quickly shook her head. “I meant join me for a drink, not the...you thought I meant the shower. Not that you’re not...I’m sorry, I’ll shut up now.” 

 

Kneading the back of his neck, he nodded. “I suppose I could take a break to join you. After the shower, obviously.” 

 

“I’ll meet you there. Shouldn’t take long.” she told him. 

 

She rushed to her room, grabbing up her robes before heading off to the shower, scattered items resting on the top. This time of night, they’d be free, nothing to concern herself with, save for the occasional soldier trying to sneak a peek. Cullen had long ago given her permission to rough them up if they tried again, and she hadn’t needed to thanks to that. What she wouldn’t give for the chance to soak in a bath again, the welcoming open air baths of the Marches offering room to stretch out and really ease the ache in her muscles. Aenor wasn’t about to complain too much, at least the water was warm, unlike the cold rivers and streams she’d had to wash in on their travels. At least he was loosening up slowly, his business demeanor was a bit too stuffy for her taste, and it was at first that he maintained that attitude outside of that. Save for how nervous he seemed around her, how easy it was to make him blush, he had come far already. What used to be only short conversations were steadily lengthening with a mostly comfortable ease. Still plenty of room for improvement, but he was getting there. 

 

Washing up slowly, she took a deep breath, her thoughts wandering. It was almost a repeat of a few years ago. Edward had once mentioned he wouldn’t mind being a little more serious, but she’d declined rather quickly. It had very little to do with him, and everything to do with her. To say the lifestyle she’d grown in was a dangerous one was no excuse. Everyone she’d known until now had to make the same assessment; was it worth it to be with someone knowing that was an extra weakness? She’d lost her family, everything she’d ever known. Connall replaced what she’d lost and gave her a life that suited her well, and she’d lost him too. In her mind, getting closer to anyone meant having to contend with the possibility that she could lose that too, whether to boredom or death. The reason wouldn’t matter so much as the hole it left behind in her heart. Without adding complications, she was able to use that numbness to fulfill her contracts. To say she’d never considered it was a lie. Jacob’s words were even now, as fresh in her mind as if he were right next to her saying them again. There was time to think on it, it wasn’t as though the situation would resolve itself immediately after securing the aid of the Templars, as well as neutralizing their threat to her and others. 

 

It wasn’t just Jacob or even Edward she’d looked at with consideration. At times when boredom set in, she’d look at those around her and wonder what a future with them might look like, what she was giving up. Solas was of her kind, and had so much to share with her, many things he could show her in the Fade too. Sights and visions of things so far removed from her time as to be breathtaking. Cullen too, as shy as he seemed, she’d imagined he’d like a quiet life somewhere. Maybe a farm, raising druffalo, a mabari or two and something to keep him busy would be a fine life for him. She’d not had to work with anyone she didn’t find pleasant, at least in some way. She sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers tested the darkening marks on her body. The ones left on her from her encounter with Jacob were still tender, but not nearly in the same way as these. Hissing out slowly, her eyes squeezed shut. 

 

“ _ Fenedhis… _ ” she swore. 

 

Rinsing out her hair one last time, she shut the water off, fetching her towel so she could step out enough to grab her clothes. Dressing quickly, she drew her hood, heading for the tavern. Hopefully she’d not kept him waiting too long, her mind had gotten away from her and washing took longer than it normally did. She caught up with him just outside, the look on his face best described as ‘lost’. He paced back and forth slowly, hand pressed to the back of his neck, stopping when he noticed her. 

 

“Ah, there you are.” he said. 

 

“Sorry if I made you wait.” she mumbled. 

 

“Not at all, I just got here myself. Had some last minute forms to sign and…” he stopped, looking at the ground. “I never see you with boots on. Aren’t your feet cold?” 

 

She chuckled at the sudden shift in topic, shaking her head. “I’m getting used to it. It doesn’t bother me as much as it did at first.” 

 

Gesturing towards the door, he moved to hold it for her, standing out of the way to let her in first. Aenor chose a pair of seats, holding up two fingers to Flissa who brought their drinks quickly. “Never see you in here Herald, I hope it’s to your liking.”

 

“You can relax, Flissa. No need to be so formal with me. Call me by my name if you like. Or even Aen, whatever you like.” she assured her. 

 

“Oh no, I couldn’t possibly…” she held back, smiling nervously. “Aen…” she repeated. “Are you sure it’s alright?” 

 

“Quite certain.” she chuckled. 

 

“Well then, Her...Aen, let me know if you need anything else. I’ll just be over there.” she said cheerfully, excusing herself. 

 

Things were tense for much of the first round, but halfway into the second, he seemed to relax a little more. Enough that the conversation was slowly losing the awkward silences in between rounds of asking and answering questions. By the end of the third, things had progressed to asking the tough questions. 

“How did you end up here? What brought you to this place?” he asked. 

 

Cullen lightly pulled her hand across the table, slim fingers extending past the fur-lined leather. He curled them in his palm, in an effort to keep them warm. He’d tried to mind her space before, but at the moment, it almost felt like they’d spent a lifetime together in this spot. 

 

“I’m guessing you want the truth? A lie might be better.” she sighed. 

 

“There’s no reason to lie to me. Remember, I’m not here to hurt you.” he reminded her. 

 

“The truth then. I don’t usually discuss my work with others.” she said. “I kill people. Tear lives apart, because the world has determined some people too dangerous to live.”

 

“Like Leliana then? Or...is it more like a Crow?” he asked. 

 

“Leliana is close, but not quite. She eliminates any threat, can do so at her discretion. The Crows take their targets by who pays the most coin. When I kill, it’s assured my target deserves it, I draw my blade only when defending my life, or fulfilling my duties.” she explained. 

 

“That’s why you were able to deflect my blows...I knew you couldn’t be just an ordinary mage.” he murmured. “I uh...that is...not that I  _ ever _ believed you were ordinary…”

 

“Perhaps not ordinary, but certainly nothing special. I have my own tales of loss and suffering and pain like anyone else. Only the mark truly makes me more.” she sighed. 

 

Cullen turned her hand lightly in his grasp, staring fixedly at the gentle glow emanating from her palm. “Does it hurt? I’m sorry I’ve never asked.” 

 

She absently shrugged a shoulder. “I can handle it. It does hurt, but I’ve grown very used to blocking out pain. Thank you for your concern. I think you may be the first to actually ask me such a thing.” 

 

Flissa brought another round over, busily removing the empty glasses from the table. It momentarily distracted him from his thoughts, but they returned quickly enough. 

 

“It’s so easy to forget. That you’re a person with thoughts and feelings, dreams and desires. Passions of your own, things you like and don’t like. The Herald of Andraste has all but consumed you in some ways, hasn’t it?” he asked. 

 

“At times. I don’t mind remaining faceless, it’s useful to me. But losing all that I am to a title is...disconcerting. The constant work, few moments to rest...people with all these problems, and more demanded of me with my own matters...I won’t say it has no weight.” she admitted uneasily. 

 

“It must be very hard to deal with. I’m pleased that I could help to lessen the burden, even if just a little. I’m...not much of a drinker, and I don’t usually allow myself the chance to take breaks. However, this is...nice. Should you like the time to relax again, I would welcome your company.” he said. 

 

“Oh my. The Commander of the Inquisition’s army is willing to set down his work for a bit to come out and get pissed with me? I’m flattered.” she teased. “Err...what I’ve told you...I trust that can stay between us? I’d rather just be seen as another mage than to have everyone aware of...what I am…”

 

“Of course, Herald. I’ve no reason to tell anyone else. I’m...not particularly close enough to share secrets with anyone as it is.” he admitted guiltily. 

 

“Same to you, Cullen. At the very least, after hours, can’t you at least call me by name? I’d like to think we’re friends, none of this stuffy title business.” she scolded. 

 

“I...will try.” he sighed. “Right. How are you feeling? Not too bad, I hope?” 

 

“I’m fine. It won’t stop me from doing what needs to be done. I’ve taken worse hits before.” she groused. Jerking her thumb towards her cheek, she shrugged. “Doubt you missed the big scar on my face.” 

 

“It looks shallow enough. Healed nicely, was it bad?” he wondered, his attention drawn to it. He’d actually managed to mostly forget about it until she mentioned it. “Thin too, the blade was sharp.” 

 

“Cut through my skin like wet paper. It stung, burned a little. I was not surprised by how much it bled. And yours? I’d imagine that was a blade as well, not just a nick shaving.” she asked. 

 

“Not very sharp, it was a hard blow. It wasn’t a clean cut.” he said. 

 

“Yes, I noticed it’s slightly jagged in places.” she observed. “I think it gives you character. What is it the books say? ‘Ruggedly handsome?’” She laughed a bit, louder when he blushed. 

 

“Maker’s breath…” he sighed, finding no humor in her teasing. Eyeing her empty cup, he shook his head. “You should get some rest. Anymore and I’d imagine you’ll have quite the hangover in the morning.”

 

Frowning a little at the suggestion, she relented with no arguments. He was right, after all. If she stayed out any longer and kept it up, she’d not be fit to deal with anything in a few hours. Aenor trudged up to the counter and set down a bag of coins, flicking a wave to both Flissa and Cullen before she headed out. He wasn’t far behind, splintering from her path towards his room. So he actually  _ did  _ sleep after all, there were many days she wondered just how he managed like he did, probably only slept a few hours at night, if even that much. Falling to her bed, she closed her eyes, daring to think of the future again. Tomorrow, the Templars...then once more to the Breach to try and close it for good. Would that be the end of it, able to return home or was this odd feeling in her stomach a sign of things to come, yet too far beyond the horizon to see?


	15. Therinfal Redoubt: Envious of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A portion of the dialogue is from the actual quest, I've only done it once or twice. I forgot much of it honestly, Templars are dicks. Wow, so sorry, but this is a long chapter. The next might be also, but I'm going to try to skip over a lot of the fighting if I can.

Perhaps they’d arrived at an inopportune moment after all. A gathering of ten noble families in tow had been said to draw the Lord Seeker’s attention. Aenor had arranged standards, and tried to protect Lord Abernache from Denam, but he was stubborn and had refused. Had the Knight-Captain not revealed too much with his words, she’d have assumed there was not much of interest going on. ‘Supposed to be changed’ and ‘purged’ had stuck out in her mind. Varric, Solas and Iron Bull in tow, she swore to herself to get to the bottom of this. The  _ Elder One _ , he said. Was that the one responsible for pulling the Templars into exile? It began with being surrounded by Templars, the one situation she  _ didn’t _ want to find herself in. The armor was too sturdy in the vital points to pierce with her blades, and often resisted her magic. The one option that came to mind was to attempt a sudden overload of energy, the same way it had happened before she was trained. 

 

“Move back as best you can, I can’t promise this will work.” she urged her companions. 

 

Solas raised a barrier around her before they backed away to let her try. Aenor tried to recollect the way it felt, the exact way every nerve tingled and...right, father had just died. Unwillingly, her mind recalled the image of his body laid out, watching him being carried off, and the utter agony of realizing she’d never hear his voice again, or see him in the yard. Would never get another lecture from him in that scolding tone, or the exact way it sounded when he called her sweet thing. Her eyes felt wet, and her chest far too heavy, like the well of vibrance inside her was being swallowed away and replaced with the absence of color. Heavy cracks of lightning called her attention back, a swelling, vicious storm breaking out in the room. Normally, it was weaker, but more controlled than this. Unrestrained, a single well placed strike was enough to drop a Templar with ease, but there was no sense to the crashing bolts. Several attempted to charge her, most jumping back to avoid being hit. 

 

“Herald!” Solas warned her. 

 

A moment later, a blade grazed between her shoulders. The attack was weakened by uncertainty, but it didn’t erase the physical pain it caused. Taking her sword in hand, she turned to face her attacker, knocked to the floor with a heavy shield bash. Her emotions wavered, furious that she had been caught off guard not once, but twice, her skin wet, hot from the trails of blood weaving down her body. Giving an angry growl, she forced herself back up, the storm growing worse until her friends had stepped back outside, dragging Ser Barris to safety. The heavy metallic scent struck her, reaching back to feel it, not as deep as it felt, and if she treated it quickly enough after dealing with this mess, surely the scar left behind wouldn’t be all that bad. Her sword began to crackle with the same intense energy, flashes of electrical energy shooting along the blade. Had her touch done that? Taking advantage, she leapt and slid around the room, finishing off what Templars hadn’t succumbed to her fury strikes aimed at the gaps between armor pieces. The Knight Captain was barely left alive, and the Templars decided to heal him if only so he could be judged later. So even Templars could comprehend justice? 

 

The others returned when the storm subsided finally, indiscriminately running down any that opposed them, following the halls, up the stone steps, a strangely distorted voice calling out loudly down the hall. Well, if this wasn’t an obvious trap before, it was now. 

  
  


‘I would know you?’ ‘Show me what you are?’ what did those things mean? He had seen her in Val Royeaux, had even thought himself so important as to get in her face and talk down to her. What was the point of questioning it now? More importantly, why did he sound like that? Fighting through the courtyard, there was only more stairs awaiting them, until she thought surely there couldn’t be anymore. Therinfal Redoubt was tall, but not so tall as to need any more stairs going up. At the top of the stairs, Lord Seeker Lucius stood with his back to them, a strange feeling raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Her skin prickled in a way that felt like a warning, but of what, she didn’t know. Aenor approached him slowly, unsure what she might see when she got him to turn around. He turned quickly, too quickly, his hands clenching her shoulders painfully, dragging her with him through a solid door, glowing in the same way her hand did. Everything was blinding white for so long, she began to wonder if she had died. A nightmarish, dark vision greeted her, lit only with the swirling glow and stray torches. The Lord Seeker was nowhere to be seen, and it dawned on her she had to find a way out. This place didn’t feel safe to her, and the sooner she got out, the better. She hadn’t gotten very far before she realized she was wading through still burning corpses, flesh melted away with horrified, eyeless faces frozen in terror. Her clan? No...this was from the Temple, when the Breach was stilled. Why? She stopped in her tracks, up ahead, Cullen and Josephine stood motionless before her. 

 

“This...can’t be real…” she mumbled.

 

But it had to be, the stench of burning corpses filled her nose, her stomach struggling to remain steady. Face to face with them, they still didn’t move, a sound drawing her attention away as Leliana emerged from the shadows. 

 

“Nightingale...what are you…” she began, confused. 

 

Leliana strode slowly towards her, and she remained resolute in her stance, refusing to back down. 

 

“Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you?” she asked, that same strange undertone to her voice as the one who spoke before. 

 

“Leliana...you know me…” she said. 

 

This was wrong. Something was seriously wrong. Which was the preferred option? That somehow her advisors were here, and had forgotten her, possibly turned on her...or...that something had rooted deeply inside them and they could not control what they were doing? 

 

“Everything tells me about you.” Leliana said. 

 

“Well, that’s expected, you’re supposed to pick up on the small details.” she sighed. 

 

Leliana moved to stand behind Cullen, drawing a dagger. She raised his head, blade pressed to his throat. 

 

“So will this...watch.” she instructed. 

 

It made sense now. This feeling, she’d felt it before, in the Fade with the desire demon. The realization stirred inside of her like every ounce of her being was reacting to it. 

 

“Stop this, you cannot sway me  _ demon.”  _ Aenor growled. 

 

Her words gave the creature in Leliana’s form pause for just a moment, before drawing the blade across Cullen’s throat. Even if it wasn’t real, it still made her want to shout, to do anything to make it stop showing her these things. At least so far it had only scratched the surface, had only shown her those she had known from the Inquisition. Clearly it wasn’t as clever as it felt it was, or it would have dug so much deeper. It mocked her briefly before abandoning Leliana for Josephine. Her lovely Antivan accent tainted by the demon’s strange voice buried in it. 

 

“Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker.” she said with a laugh. 

 

“I don’t know. I can think of at least one reason being the Lord Seeker would be more interesting.” she said with a shrug, wincing as she did. 

 

Turning away to stare down the path, trying to make out a path to get out, Josephine stepped slowly behind her. 

 

“Do you know what the Inquisition can become? You’ll see.” she said. 

 

“I suppose you’ll show me, demon?” she questioned with a hint of boredom. 

 

“When I’m done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend, then I will be  _ you.”  _ the demon said. 

 

“You’re much chattier than the last demon I met. If you’re feeling so talkative, who is this Elder One?” she asked. “Entertain me some more. I’m getting bored already. You’ve shown me nothing. Keep talking, then.” 

 

It was a bluff. The idea of being little more than a puppet with a demon inside her was terrifying. Feigning arrogance and playfulness was the only way she could think to keep her head on straight. Making it out of this intact was the idea, and panicking would only give it opportunities to throw her off. Josephine turned and walked away, and she could sense someone behind her, whirling on the ball of her feet to face the next vision. Cullen glared down at her, his normally pleasant features distorted into the scowl he saved for when he was issuing orders or angry with something. Being on the receiving end of that look made her feel cold. 

 

“I am not your toy. I am Envy, and I will  _ know _ you!” he said. 

 

“Then you’re choosing your skins wrong. It’s too obvious. The forms you choose are of the people who  _ already _ know me. You’ll learn nothing new about me this way.” she sighed. 

 

“Tell me  _ Herald _ , in your mind…” he said, stabbing that same knife from before into a shadowy body. “ _ Tell me what you think! Tell me what you feel…”  _

 

A sound distracted her, glancing over her shoulder to see a shadowy figure identical to her, clutching her stomach. Bleeding out, the spectre of herself collapsed slowly with a slow gurgle. 

 

“Tell me what you see…” he persisted. 

 

“Don’t you already know? What kind of half-assed demon wants to know me as you claim to, but you want  _ me _ to do the work for you? I’m sorry but my schedule is already full.” she said. 

 

The demon vanished, and she pressed on. Past figures pointing swords at another spectre that looked like it could be her. Cassandra standing over her, questioning her. So this was the past then? When Cassandra had interrogated her after the Conclave. Unphased, she continued forward, a scout standing there, offering a report. 

 

“Our enemies have surrendered unconditionally.” she said to another scout. 

 

“The Inquisition’s strength rivals any kingdom in Thedas.” he said. 

 

Another figure of herself, arms folded, eyes glowing menacingly. “Our reach begins to match my ambition - but we will strive for more.” 

 

Ambition? She couldn’t say she had any. Certainly no desire to equal the power of other kingdoms. She was happy enough knowing that everyone she put down was one more would-be tyrant out of the way. One less barrier to freedom for the citizens of Thedas. 

 

“What a sad life. Pretending to be something you could never be, that must be the only pleasure you get, demon...I pity you.” she said. 

 

“Accusing, trying to find my weakness...is  _ that _ the woman you are?” the demon asked. 

 

Accusing, not normally. Trying to find and exploit weaknesses was what was natural. To some extent, few were exempt from that aspect of nature. She tried to continue, but bursts of gleaming fire spewed from the pillars, barring her path straight through. She timed her movements carefully, navigating through as far as she could manage. 

 

“Do you see how glorious  _ my _ Inquisition will be after you die at the hands of the Elder One?” it asked. 

 

There was a room that was open. Taking the chance, she ignored the voice speaking to her, walking through the doorway. A different voice spoke this time, calm and gentle, far different from the one that had been speaking. 

 

“You’re hurting, helpless, hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?” the voice asked

 

Wonderful. More company. This voice sounded too nice to be a demon, but that didn’t mean anything, the desire demon sounded almost musical, sultry. She had no interest in women, but she’d definitely found it sexy, to say the least. 

 

“What are you? Get out! This is my place!” Envy hissed. 

 

Not company he expected then. This could be a good thing. The room was small, filled with tables and barrels, almost cramped despite the open space, furniture hanging from the walls as if it naturally belonged there. Turning around, the door slammed shut, because  _ of course it fucking did. _ Testing it, fully expecting it wouldn’t budge, it took her by surprise when it pushed open with ease. Walking back out, the voice called to her.

 

“Wait…” it said. 

 

Aenor couldn’t say why, but she  _ did.  _ Going back in, she could see nothing at first. Then the voice was behind her. She looked back to see who it was, but there still was nothing. 

 

  
“Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel, but not face. I want to help. You, not Envy.” the voice told her. 

 

“Who are you...I’ve seen you before, have I?” she asked. 

 

“I’ve been watching. I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Or...I am. You’re always inside you.” he explained. 

 

Someone named Cole had been watching her, and was somehow inside of her? She was inside her? That didn’t make a lot of sense at the moment. Always inside you, she could only assume he meant that her thoughts were always inside her head, something like that anyway. Cole spoke from behind her again, and she turned, her eyes drawn to the ceiling. A young man in a wide brimmed hat stared down at her, somehow fragile looking, but every bit as kind in feeling as he sounded. 

 

“It’s easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But I’m here, hearing, helping, I hope.” he said. 

 

So...he was saying he could somehow hear the things happening around her, but it was difficult to get inside to help? If so, then he really  _ was _ here to help. To extend actual effort to break into ‘her’ to help was unnecessary. It would have been far easier to leave her to it and let Envy continue to try to break her down and steal her body if he intended to harm her. 

 

“Envy hurt you.  _ Is _ hurting you. I tried to help, then I was here, in the hearing. It’s -- it’s not usually like this.” he mumbled. 

“It seems the least I could ask that things make sense  _ in my own head _ .” she grumbled, more to herself than to him. 

 

Yes,  _ why _ was all of this taking place in her head? Control of her own thoughts was supposed to be a given, or so she mistakenly believed. Cole laughed quietly, and it was a soothing sound, calming her tension easily. 

 

“It never works like that.” he told her. “I was watching. I watch. Every Templar knew when you arrived. They were impressed, but not like the Lord Seeker.” he paused a moment before continuing. “Anyway, you’re frozen. Envy is trying to take your face, I heard it and reached out, and then in, and then I was here.” 

 

He explained as best he could what was going on outside, and how to get out. Going out the way he came in was possible, but not a great option if she meant to stay alive. He said everything in here was Envy, and going on would make him have to stretch his powers further. It made sense to her, keep going, force him so thin his powers would no longer reach her and she could get out safely. Clever. She’d never heard of an Envy demon, so it stood that she had no idea how to evade one. More and more she was glad he had accidentally slipped into her mind. 

 

“Being one person is hard. Being many, too many, more and more, and Envy breaks down, you break out.” he confirmed. 

 

Aenor followed him out, the fire still raging, barring her path onward. Cole explained that her thoughts had to be louder, think of water. She imagined the lakes and streams, the vigorous rocking of Edward’s ship on the Waking Sea. The cold unforgiving feeling of knives stabbing every inch of her the first time she tried instead to bath in the lake, and the warmth of the showers back at Haven, the open air baths in the Marches. Any instance of water her mind could recollect. Steam curled in thick plumes, the fire extinguished just like that, as he had said. Perhaps she still had much to learn about magic, realization hitting her that she had truly only scratched the surface. 

 

“Betrayed allies will curse your name. Like the first Inquisition, you will bring blood and ruin and fear!” The Envy demon taunted, presenting her with fresh visions.

 

“Unless you don’t. You don’t have to. None of this is real unless you let it be.” Cole gently reminded her. 

 

“Get out, thing! I am learning!” the Demon hissed. 

 

“I rather like him. You, not so much. I’d rather  _ you _ get out.” she said with a sigh. 

 

Cole continued to patiently lead her forward, instructing her whenever the Envy demon tried a different trick. Soon, she was able to walk past more visions, more attempts to flesh out who she was without a second glance. All the better, it freed her up to think of more important things. The wound she had taken had stopped bleeding. She could feel it drying and crumbling down her back, but that hadn’t removed the ache, the burn, that throbbing pain rippling through it. Even freed from Envy’s clutches, it would be a long time before she’d see Haven again, and she could only hope infection didn’t set in in the meantime. Then again, Solas should be versed in at least simple healing spells, given that Varric told her he had been the one to keep the mark from killing her while she slept. If he could do that much with a magic he couldn’t identify, a simple cut should be easy enough to handle, right? She did look up once, an angry voice calling out. Cullen sat behind the bars of another of many cells in this area. This wasn’t  _ her _ reality, and for a moment, she wondered what he had done that the Envy demon might consider enough of a reason to throw him in there, considering he was alongside the man who claimed to own Haven, chantry mothers, and Josephine, among others. Josephine had mentioned going days without food and water, and she wondered if somewhere deep down, if there was a side of her that  _ could _ be capable of that. Demon or not, was it even a remote possibility that she could deny someone she perceived as innocent basic necessities? To lock them away without cause except for some sick sense of pleasure?

 

Cole tapped her shoulder and she shook it free, continuing on. _Val Royeaux_ _is burning_...a voice said. Something about marching with demons. A Demon army out to destroy Orlais? For what reason? Cole mentioned Envy was angry, but that she was too. Strange how she didn’t feel it inside. Could she _be_ angry without _knowing_ she was? Just how much could Cole see in her? 

 

More updates from the imaginary people. Tevinter has fallen, Antiva besieged by the demons that took Orlais. There were many she had met that might wish Tevinter out of the way, and if it helped the cause, she’d surely take the corrupt pieces off the map, but not  _ all  _ of it, there had to be some innocents even there. More stairs, she climbed them as quickly as her feet would carry her, Cole’s calm voice telling her that she was almost there, to keep going up. Envy was sure to come out soon. Finally, many stairs more later, she saw a door, heaving a sigh as she approached it. Something pushed her, and she turned, face to face with another glowy-eyed shadow version of herself. Like the Lord Seeker had, she clutched her shoulders, backing her into the door. Envy complained about the way Cole had helped her out, said it was unfair and had he not interfered, she’d have fallen. The shadow Aenor raised her off the ground, her feet struggling to find ground that was no longer there.

 

“What could you gain from being me?” she rasped. 

 

He refused to answer, frustrated by the question. Palm crackling, Envy reached for her, stuck in his hold. “We’ll start again. More pain this time. The Elder One still comes.”

 

Just behind him a figure began to materialize slowly out of red wisps of smoke. Cole spoke to her again, Envy distracted by trying to rid her mind of him. His hold loosened enough to shake free, her head crashing against the false her, knocking it back. She left through the door, seizing her chance, and again, everything turned white. When the world returned, she glared down the ugly, misshapen thing that was expelled. This was Envy’s true form? It was hideous, made her skin crawl with the way it contorted to face her, the way it skittered and crawled like a spider, vanishing deeper in, behind barriers that would surely take time to get past.

 

Taking a deep breath, she let her shoulder fall slightly, taking a small bit of the pressure off it. “Where’s Cole? Did he make it out alright?” 

 

“Who is Cole?” Barris asked. 

 

“He’s...pale, dressed unusually. Fade-touched. A spirit, I think…” she mumbled. 

 

“I saw no one. The Lord Seeker was alone when you revealed his true nature.” Barris told her. 

 

Barris mentioned the real Lord Seeker was either caged or dead. That red lyrium was used to corrupt the Templars, said he knew it was risky. Red lyrium was fairly new to her, but Varric explained before that it was first seen in the Deep Roads. That red lyrium had turned the Knight-Commander into a statue of it, and then there was that present in the Temple, giant shards in the Hinterlands. Varric said it drove you mad, you heard singing, and made things happen. Cole said they were ‘red inside’ and she assumed he meant blood, but now that she thought about it, perhaps he was talking about the red lyrium corrupting them...


	16. Therinfal Redoubt: Changing Plans

Barris questioned the Templars as to what Envy was, and it reminded her how little she knew. Without hesitation, they answered with confidence, where she had not known until she experienced it for herself. Barris said most of the higher ranking Templars had already turned, and offered to hold the hall while she sought out the Lieutenants. He said if she could do that, he’d give her Envy. Urged her to show the corrupt Templars no mercy. Easy enough for her. She turned her wrist, testing her hidden blade a few times before she was confident it was in working order. Drawing her sword, she thumbed the blade slowly. Still plenty sharp, this was just fine. Looking back to the others, she nodded her head to the barriers. 

 

“Bull. Varric. You stay here and help them out as needed. Solas, you’re with me. Can’t hurt to have a shield of our own. Hold the fort, we’ll return quickly.” she instructed. 

 

Exchanging uncertain glances, they did as they were told, weapons at the ready. Solas followed her out, quiet until they were far out of earshot. 

 

“Do you...feel alright?” he asked quietly. 

 

“Curious. Outraged that that thing was inside my head. If you’re questioning my mental state, I’ll be fine...I just...might need a moment.” she admitted. “I didn’t ask you to follow for that though.” 

  
  


Aenor gestured to the wound, her expression softening as she looked at him. “Can you help? You don’t need to close it, but can you clean it somehow...like...maybe magic water?” 

 

“Magic water?” he asked curiously. “That reminds me. I’ve never taken the chance to ask who taught you. You’ve said before you were raised by a human. Clearly not your Keeper. Your control isn’t perfect, so not Circle taught either…” 

 

She didn’t have to say  _ where _ she learned. He was only asking who taught her. It was probably better than Varric had stayed behind. “I was taught by a mage called Anders.” 

 

He searched her face for any hint of humor in it. “Anders...the one who destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall?” 

 

She frowned. “That’s him. He was quite honest about everything. Perhaps it’s just me, but I don’t feel he was wrong. Something clearly had to change and no amount of arguing and pissing around was going to solve it.  I was there at the time...just...not there when it happened.” 

 

“You were in Kirkwall?” he asked skeptically. 

 

“Yes. I was there long enough to hunt down Anders and retrieve him.” she said. 

 

Leaving out the part where she was actually sent to kill someone primarily. Solas checked the supplies, leaning her over at an angle. 

 

“Hold still.” he said. 

 

She heard a cork popping, feeling the warm, bubbling sting of thick liquid dipping into the wound. She bit her lip, squeezing her eyes shut to block it out. At his word, she stood up slowly, watching him put it away. It wasn’t any potion that she was familiar with, nor did the ones she use feel like that. Perhaps it was a concoction he had discovered in the Fade or just from travels? He examined it closely, before letting her know it should be fine. They searched wherever they could to find the Templars, encountering groups to put down, which she did all too easily, brutally efficient in her methods. Solas made no commentary, letting her lead the trail of destruction. Checking where she could, they found the stash of regular lyrium for the Templars. The other thing… it was ominous. A room with red scrawls on the walls, eyes drawn everywhere, and swords. It looked like it could have been drawn on in blood, the room lit by dozens of candles lining the room. In the center, a bust sculpture of Empress Celene, with a piece of paper over her face, words scrawled on it. 

 

“The Elder One wants her dead…” a familiar voice said. 

 

Cole stood there, looking her way. A sound outside drew her attention away, and when she looked once more, he was gone again. He said before he could make her forget if it was uncomfortable for her. Had that been what he’d done? Somehow made her forget him long enough to escape her notice? Aenor was fairly certain she’d found all the veterans, they had the lyrium. All that was left was to get back to the Main Hall and take down the barriers to deal with the Envy demon. 

 

When they returned, they reassembled together, the Templars taking the lyrium. They worked to tear down the last defenses keeping them out while Aenor and her companions kept away trouble long enough for them to manage. The way to the demon clear, they rushed out to deal with it once and for all, its words filled with anger and bitterness at the way she denied it her form. Thankfully, they wouldn’t be fighting alone. A soft voice called out, talking to the demon, lecturing very nearly. 

 

“Cole, I’d hoped I’d see you again.” she greeted him pleasantly. 

 

“Yes. I’m here to help.” he said. 

 

The Envy demon had many tricks, shifting around the battlefield in an attempt to trick and confuse them, taking her form again to try and throw them off. Thankfully, it only drew out the fight a little longer, too clever to be fooled by such simple and familiar strategies. The Templars managed to return to them when Envy was slain. Awfully convenient of them to miss the fight. 

 

“The demon is dead. Andraste be praised, she shielded you from its touch.” Barris said. 

 

“I think it less Andraste and more Cole, honestly.” she sighed. 

 

“We’ve numbers across Thedas, but we let this happen. Our officers either failed to see it or were complicit.” he explained “The Templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.” 

 

Aenor glanced over her shoulder at the Breach, looming in the sky, still but ominous. 

 

“You know what we need. The Breach is still a threat, and it must be dealt with.” she said. 

 

“What are the conditions?” Barris asked curiously. 

 

If it were her choice, she’d say they had no choice but the bend to her needs. The brush with Envy spooked her enough to be concerned about holding power like that over anyone, and it wasn’t like she couldn’t slowly break them down over time. Plus, if it happened that she had need to take out a contract on one of them, they’d all be right there.

 

“Join us. Help us seal the Breach before it destroys the world.” she said. 

 

It was definitely not what she wanted, but it was the best option right now. Not to mention so much fighting and the strain of a demon wearing on her was more than she had ever had to deal with. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, her body lined in tiny cuts and likely not an inch of skin left untouched by some manner of bruise or welt. First, she needed a bit to rest up and refocus her mind, and then they could take on the Breach and she’d be ready to kick herself for changing her plans so easily later. 


End file.
